"She is come back," he whispered to me. "She is in her chamber, and undressing. All is as it should be."
"God be thanked!" I cried, in a transport of inexpressible joy. "God be thanked! Now all will be well. But you know we have something to say to each other."
"Another time," he answered, softly closing the window—"another time. For this, good-by."
"Till to-morrow then," I said. "Tomorrow everything will be clear."
"Good-by," Gagin repeated, and the window was shut. I came near to knocking again. I wished to tell Gagin at once that I sought his sister's hand. But such a wooing, at such an hour! "Till to-morrow then," I thought. "To-morrow I shall be happy!"
"To-morrow I shall be happy!" Happiness has no to-morrow; it has no yesterday; it knows of no past; it thinks of no future. The present belongs to it, and not even the present day—only the moment.
I do not know how I reached S——. Not my feet brought me; not the boat carried me; I was borne over as if on broad, mighty wings. My way led me by a thicket in which a nightingale was singing. It seemed to me it sang of my love and my joy.
The next morning, as I drew near the familiar little house, one circumstance seemed strange: all its windows were open, and the door as well. Scraps of paper lay strewn about the threshold, and behind the door a maid was visible with her broom.
I stepped up to her.