At times, when her suffering seemed intolerable, she thought with naïve astonishment of her brother. She knew that, for him, nothing was sacred, that he looked at her, his sister, with the eyes of a male, and that he was selfish and immoral. Nevertheless he was the only man in whose presence she felt herself absolutely free, and with whom she could openly discuss the most intimate secrets of her life. She had been seduced. Well, what of that? She had had an intrigue. Very good. It was at her own wish. People would despise and humiliate her; what did it matter? Before her lay life, and sunshine, and the wide world; and, as for men, there were plenty to be had. Her mother would grieve. Well, that was her own affair. Lida had never known what her mother’s youth had been, and after her death there would be no further supervision. They had met by chance on life’s road, and had gone part of the way together. Was that any reason why they should mutually oppose each other?
Lida saw plainly that she would never have the same freedom which her brother possessed. That she had ever thought so was due to the influence of this calm, strong man whom she affectionately admired. Strange thoughts came to her, thoughts of an illicit nature.
“If he were not my brother, but a stranger!…” she said to herself, as she hastily strove to suppress the shameful and yet alluring suggestion.
Then she remembered Novikoff and like a humble slave longed for his pardon and his love. She heard steps and looked round. Novikoff and Sanine came to her silently across the grass. She could not discern their faces in the dusk, yet she felt that the dreaded moment was at hand. She turned very pale, and it seemed as if life was about to end.
“There!” said Sanine, “I have brought Novikoff to you. He will tell you himself all that he has to tell. Stay here quietly, while I will go and get some tea.”
Turning on his heel, he walked swiftly away, and for a moment they watched his white shirt as he disappeared in the gloom. So great was the silence that they could hardly believe that he had gone farther than the shadow of the surrounding trees.
“Lidia Petrovna,” said Novikoff gently, in a voice so sad and touching that it went to her heart.
“Poor fellow,” she thought, “how good he is.”
“I know everything, Lidia Petrovna,” continued Novikoff, “but I love you just as much as ever. Perhaps some day you will learn to love me. Tell me, will you be my wife?”
“I had better not say too much about that,” he thought, “she must never know what a sacrifice I am making for her.”