“An awful text,” he said. “There’s no denying you’ve picked out fitting ones.” He rose from the chair. “Well!” he said, “good‐by, perhaps I shan’t come again ... we shall meet in heaven. So I have been for fourteen years ‘in the hands of the living God,’ that’s how one must think of those fourteen years. To‐morrow I will beseech those hands to let me go.”
I wanted to take him in my arms and kiss him, but I did not dare—his face was contorted and somber. He went away.
“Good God,” I thought, “what has he gone to face!” I fell on my knees before the ikon and wept for him before the Holy Mother of God, our swift defender and helper. I was half an hour praying in tears, and it was late, about midnight. Suddenly I saw the door open and he came in again. I was surprised.
“Where have you been?” I asked him.
“I think,” he said, “I’ve forgotten something ... my handkerchief, I think.... Well, even if I’ve not forgotten anything, let me stay a little.”
He sat down. I stood over him.
“You sit down, too,” said he.
I sat down. We sat still for two minutes; he looked intently at me and suddenly smiled—I remembered that—then he got up, embraced me warmly and kissed me.
“Remember,” he said, “how I came to you a second time. Do you hear, remember it!”
And he went out.