"What is the matter? What has happened to you? There must be something..." I stopped, or rather the sight of the white face all drawn and quivering with pain stopped me.
"Oh, it is too horrible, too awful! God have mercy on us! God have mercy on us!"
Bad as things were so far as I knew them, this dejection seemed disproportionate and excessive. She was like a mad woman distraught with fear or grief; and she waved her hands about as if wrestling with emotions she could not conquer.
"Oh, it can't be true; it can't be," she moaned; and then came suddenly to me, turned my face to the light holding it between her white trembling hands, and gazed at me with a look of mingled anguish, fear, doubt, wildness, and—love; her lips parted and her bosom rising and falling as if with the strain of her passionate feelings.
When her scrutiny was over, her hands seemed to slip down and she fell on her knees close to me and I heard her muttering prayers with vehement fervour.
"What does this mean, Olga?" I asked gently, bending down and laying my hand on her shoulder. She looked round and up at my touch, and tried to smile. Then she rose and standing opposite to me, put her hands on my two shoulders so that her face was close beneath mine. And all the time she was muttering prayers. Then, in a voice all broken and tremulous, she said:—
"Brother, swear as you believe there is a God in Heaven, you will answer truly what I ask."
"I will. I swear it," I answered, wishing to quiet her.
"Did you really do this?"
"Do what?" I asked, not understanding.