I left the village and made my way into the fields. Vexation, the keenest vexation possessed me. I overwhelmed myself with reproaches. How had it been possible for me to misunderstand the reason which had induced Assja to change our place of meeting? How could I have failed to know what it must have cost her to go to the old woman? Why had I not detained her! Alone with her in the dim, empty room I had found the strength, I had had the heart to drive her from me—even to reproach her for coming. Now her image followed me; I besought her pardon. The memory of that pale face, those shy, wet eyes, that hair flowing over the bowed back, the soft nestling of her head against my breast, consumed me like a fire. "Yours!" Her whisper still rang in my ears. "I have acted conscientiously," I tried to say to myself. Lies! What was the conclusion I truly wished? Am I in a condition to part with her? Can I lose her? "O fool! fool!" I repeated with bitterness.
By this time the night had fallen. With hasty steps I sought the house where Assja lived.
Gagin came to meet me.
"Have you seen my sister?" he called to me, still at a distance.
"Isn't she at home then?" I returned.
"No."
"She has not come back?"
"No. Excuse me," Gagin went on. "I could not stand it. I went to the chapel in spite of our agreement; she was not there; she cannot have gone there."