“Friends!” and his niece entered with Rakitina.
“What is the matter with you, dear uncle,” asked Vâra, looking at the priest; “you look agitated—this is the second day you’ve been out driving?…”
Irena looked at him inquiringly. “Perhaps he has some news for me,” thought she.
“About other people’s business; of no interest to you, my dear; and you, Irena Lvovna, be magnanimous and forgive me,” continued the priest, turning round to Rakitina. “Times are troublous, it is now too dangerous to keep the manuscripts you brought from home. I know you will soon go away, but the village even is not safe. You’ll forgive an old man.”
Irena turned pale.
“All sorts of rumours are floating about—search may be made,” continued Father Peter. “Scold me, young lady, but your manuscript.…”
“Where is it? oh, you’ve not burnt it?” cried Irena, involuntarily glancing at the lighted stove.
Father Peter silently bowed.
Irena clasped her hands.