“Go away, Alexey Fyodorovitch! It’s shameful, it’s awful for me! To‐ morrow, I beg you on my knees, come to‐morrow. Don’t condemn me. Forgive me. I don’t know what I shall do with myself now!”
Alyosha walked out into the street reeling. He could have wept as she did. Suddenly he was overtaken by the maid.
“The young lady forgot to give you this letter from Madame Hohlakov; it’s been left with us since dinner‐time.”
Alyosha took the little pink envelope mechanically and put it, almost unconsciously, into his pocket.
Chapter XI.
Another Reputation Ruined
It was not much more than three‐quarters of a mile from the town to the monastery. Alyosha walked quickly along the road, at that hour deserted. It was almost night, and too dark to see anything clearly at thirty paces ahead. There were cross‐roads half‐way. A figure came into sight under a solitary willow at the cross‐roads. As soon as Alyosha reached the cross‐ roads the figure moved out and rushed at him, shouting savagely:
“Your money or your life!”
“So it’s you, Mitya,” cried Alyosha, in surprise, violently startled however.
“Ha ha ha! You didn’t expect me? I wondered where to wait for you. By her house? There are three ways from it, and I might have missed you. At last I thought of waiting here, for you had to pass here, there’s no other way to the monastery. Come, tell me the truth. Crush me like a beetle. But what’s the matter?”
“Nothing, brother—it’s the fright you gave me. Oh, Dmitri! Father’s blood just now.” (Alyosha began to cry, he had been on the verge of tears for a long time, and now something seemed to snap in his soul.) “You almost killed him—cursed him—and now—here—you’re making jokes—‘Your money or your life!’ ”