Vera still hesitated to believe what she heard. Was it a heroic measure, a generous invention to rescue and restore her own self-respect? But her aunt’s prayers, her tears, her appeal to Vera’s dead mother, no actress would have dared to use such devices, and her aunt was the soul of truth and honour.
Warm life pulsed in Vera’s heart, and her heart was lightened. She felt as if life was streaming through her veins after an evil dream. Peace tapped at the door of her soul, the dark forsaken temple, which was now gaily lighted once more and a home of prayer. She felt that Tatiana Markovna and she were inseparable sisters, and she even began involuntarily to address her as “thou,” as she had done Raisky when her heart responded to his kindness. As these thoughts whirled in her head, she had a sensation of lightness and freedom, like a prisoner whose fetters have been removed.
“Grandmother,” she said, rising, “you have forgiven me, and you love me more than you do any of the others, more than Marfinka, that I realise. But do you know and understand my love for you? I should not have suffered as I did, but for my love for you. How long we have been strangers!”
“I will tell you all, Vera, and you must hear my confession. Judge me severely, but pardon me, and God will pardon us both.”
“I will not, I ought not, I may not,” cried Vera. “To what end should I hear it?”
“So that I may suffer once more, as I suffered five-and-forty years ago. You know my sin, and Boris shall know it. He may laugh at the grey hairs of old Kunigunde.”
As she strode up and down, shaking her head in her fanatical seriousness, with sorrow and triumphant dignity in her face, her resemblance to the old family portrait in the gallery was very marked.
Beside her Vera felt like a small and pitiful child as she gazed timidly into her aunt’s eyes; she measured her own young strength by the strength of this old woman who had ripened and remained unbroken in the long struggle of life.
“My whole life can never repay what you have done for me, Grandmother. Let this be the end of your penance, and tell me no more. If you are determined that Boris shall know, I will whisper a word about your past to him. Since I have seen your anguish, why should you suffer a longer martyrdom? I will not listen. It is not my place to sit in judgment on you. Let me hold your grey hairs sacred.”
Tatiana Markovna sighed, and embraced Vera.