She pulled herself up, but was pressed down on the bench with the weight of Raisky’s hands. She shook her head wildly in powerless rage.
“What reward do you hope from me for this virtuous deed?” she hissed.
He said nothing, but kept a watchful eye on her movements. After a time she besought him gently: “Let me go, Cousin,” but he refused.
“Cousin,” she said, laying her hand gently on his shoulder. “Imagine that you sat upon hot coals, and were dying every minute of terror, and of wild impatience, that happiness rose before you, stretching out enticing arms, only to vanish, that your whole being rose to meet it; imagine that you saw before you a last hope, a last glimmer. That is how it is with me at this moment. The moment will be lost, and with it everything else.”
“Think, Vera, if in the hot thirst of fever you ask for ice, it is denied you. In your soberer moments yesterday you pointed out to me the practical means of rescue, you said I was not to let you go, and I will not.”
She fell on her knees before him, and wrung her hands.
“I should curse you my whole life long for your violence. Give way. Perhaps it is my destiny that calls me.”
“I was a witness yesterday, Vera, of where you seek your fate. You believe in a Providence, and there is no other destiny.”
“Yes,” she answered submissively. “I do believe. There before the sacred picture I sought for a spark to lighten my path, but in vain. What shall I do?” she said, rising.
“Do not go, Vera.”