I knelt down and fixed my eyes upon the face of the sick man. But what did I see?... Instead of my father, I saw lying in the bed a black-bearded peasant, who looked at me with an expression of gaiety upon his countenance. Greatly perplexed, I turned round to my mother and said to her:
“What does all this mean? This is not my father. Why should I ask this peasant for his blessing?”
“It is all the same, Petrousha,” replied my mother; “he is your stepfather; kiss his hand and let him bless you.” I would not consent to it. Then the peasant sprang out of bed, grasped the axe which hung at his back,[4] and commenced flourishing it about on every side. I wanted to run away, but I could not; the room began to get filled with dead bodies; I kept stumbling against them, and my feet continually slipped in pools of blood. The dreadful peasant called out to me in a gentle voice, saying:
“Do not be afraid; come and receive my blessing.” Terror and doubt took possession of me.... At that moment I awoke; the horses had come to a standstill. Savelitch took hold of my hand, saying:
“Get out, my lord, we have arrived.”
“Where are we?” I asked, rubbing my eyes.
“At a place of refuge. God came to our help and conducted us straight to the fence of the house. Get out as quickly as you can, my lord, and warm yourself.”
I stepped out of the kibitka. The storm still raged, although with less violence than at first. It was as dark as if we were totally blind. The host met us at the door, holding a lantern under the skirt of his coat, and conducted me into a room, small, but tolerably clean. It was lit up by a pine torch. On the wall hung a long rifle, and a tall Cossack cap.
The host, a Yaikian Cossack by birth, was a peasant of about sixty years of age, still hale and strong. Savelitch brought in the tea-chest, and asked for a fire in order to prepare some tea, which I seemed to need at that moment more than at any other time in my life. The host hastened to attend to the matter.
“Where is the guide?” I said to Savelitch.