"Liza!"—burst from his lips, in barely audible tones.
She started, and began to stare into the darkness.
"Liza!"—repeated Lavrétzky more loudly, and emerged from the shadow of the avenue.
Liza, in alarm, stretched forth her head, and staggered backward. He called her for the third time, and held out his arms toward her. She left the door, and advanced into the garden.
"Is it you?"—she said.—"Are you here?"
"It is I ... I ... listen to me,"—whispered Lavrétzky, and, grasping her hand, he led her to the bench.
She followed him without resistance; her pale face, her impassive eyes, all her movements, were expressive of unutterable amazement. Lavrétzky seated her on the bench, and himself took up his stand in front of her.
"I had no thought of coming hither,"—he began:—"I came hither by chance.... I ... I ... I love you,"—he said, with involuntary terror.
Liza slowly glanced at him; apparently, she had only that moment comprehended where she was, and that she was with him. She tried to rise, but could not, and covered her face with her hands.
"Liza,"—said Lavrétzky:—"Liza,"—he repeated, and bowed down at her feet....