"I'm frightened," said the boy.
"What then—frightened? Why? there's nothing here."
"Some one was crying."
"You've been dreaming," said the hunchback softly.
"No! truly, he was crying."
"A wolf perhaps, far away. Go to sleep again."
But Ilya could sleep no more. He was frightened at the clear stillness, and in his ears the mournful sound still rang. He looked cautiously at the country round, and then saw that his uncle was gazing in the direction where, over the mountain, far in the midst of the wood, stood a white church with five towers, the large round moon shining brightly above it. Ilya knew that this was the church of Romodanov, and that two versts from it nearer to them, in the wood above the valley, lay their village Kitschnaja.
"We haven't come far," he said, thoughtfully.
"What?" asked his uncle.
"We must get on further, I said, some one might come."