‘Elena!’ cried Insarov.
She took his hands, looked at him, and fell on his breast.
He held her close to him, and said nothing. There was no need for him to tell her he loved her. From that cry alone, from the instant transformation of the whole man, from the heaving of the breast to which she clung so confidingly, from the touch of his finger tips in her hair, Elena could feel that she was loved. He did not speak, and she needed no words. ‘He is here, he loves me... what need of more?’ The peace of perfect bliss, the peace of the harbour reached after storm, of the end attained, that heavenly peace which gives significance and beauty even to death, filled her with its divine flood. She desired nothing, for she had gained all. ‘O my brother, my friend, my dear one!’ her lips were whispering, while she did not know whose was this heart, his or her own, which beat so blissfully, and melted against her bosom.
He stood motionless, folding in his strong embrace the young life surrendered to him; he felt against his heart this new, infinitely precious burden; a passion of tenderness, of gratitude unutterable, was crumbling his hard will to dust, and tears unknown till now stood in his eyes.
She did not weep; she could only repeat, ‘O my friend, my brother!’
‘So you will follow me everywhere?’ he said to her, a quarter of an hour later, still enfolding her and keeping her close to him in his arms.
‘Everywhere, to the ends of the earth. Where you are, I will be.’
‘And you are not deceiving yourself, you know your parents will never consent to our marriage?’
‘I don’t deceive myself; I know that.’
‘You know that I’m poor—almost a beggar.’