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on, ‘devouring space,’ and as he drew near his goal, again
the thought of her, of her alone, took more and more com-
plete possession of his soul, chasing away the fearful images
that had been haunting it. Oh, how he longed to look upon
her, if only for a moment, if only from a distance!
‘She’s now with him,’ he thought, ‘now I shall see what
she looks like with him, her first love, and that’s all I want.’
Never had this woman, who was such a fateful influence in
his life, aroused such love in his breast, such new and un-
known feeling, surprising even to himself, a feeling tender
to devoutness, to self-effacement before her! ‘I will efface
myself!’ he said, in a rush of almost hysterical ecstasy.
They had been galloping nearly an hour. Mitya was si-
lent, and though Andrey was, as a rule, a talkative peasant,
he did not utter a word, either. He seemed afraid to talk,
he only whipped up smartly his three lean, but mettlesome,
bay horses. Suddenly Mitya cried out in horrible anxiety:
‘Andrey! What if they’re asleep?’
This thought fell upon him like a blow. It had not oc-
curred to him before.
‘It may well be that they’re gone to bed by now, Dmitri
Fyodorovitch.’
Mitya frowned as though in pain. Yes, indeed... he was
rushing there... with such feelings... while they were asleep...
she was asleep, perhaps, there too.... An angry feeling surged
up in his heart.
‘Drive on, Andrey! Whip them up! Look alive!’ he cried,
beside himself.
‘But maybe they’re not in bed!’ Andrey went on after a