I was silent; neither did Olyessia make any answer, but nestled her head in my bosom.
‘Why did you ask me this?’ I was curious.
She started suddenly.
‘Nothing.... I just asked.... Don’t take any notice. Now, good-bye, darling. Come to-morrow.’
She disappeared. I stood still for a long while, looking into the darkness, listening eagerly to the quick steps going away from me. A sudden dread foreboding seized me. I had an irresistible desire to run after Olyessia, to take hold of her and ask, implore, demand, if need be, that she should not go to church. But I checked the sudden impulse, and I remember that as I went my way I even said aloud:
‘It seems to me, my dear Vanichka, that the superstition’s touched you as well.’
My God, why did I not listen then to the dim voice of the heart, which—I now believe it implicitly—never errs in its momentary mysterious presentiments?
XII
The day after this meeting was Whitsuntide, which that year fell on the day of the great martyr Timothy, when, according to the folk legends, the omens of a bad harvest befall. Ecclesiastically the village of Perebrod was considered auxiliary; that is to say, that though there was a church there it had no priest of its own. On rare occasions, in fast time and on the great festivals, it was served by the priest of the village of Volchye.