At once there occurred to him an evil thought: and as instantly the devil seemed to whisper in his ear that the same thought was in Katerina’s mind also.

“I will buy you of the merchant,” was the thought which had occurred to him, “even though ‘the purchaser must give his very soul to conclude the bargain.’ Yet the blood which must be shed for you shall not be shed by the vendor.”

All this time a fixed smile—a smile which was striking death to Ordynov’s heart—lingered upon Katerina’s features. Beside himself, and almost insensible, he raised his hand, and unhooked from the wall an ancient dagger. As he did so astonishment and, for the first time, a sort of challenge showed themselves in Katerina’s eyes. Then someone seemed to seize Ordynov’s hand, and to impel him further towards the foolish deed. He drew the dagger from its sheath, while Katerina stared at him tensely, and almost without breathing.

Once more he glanced at the old man. He could have sworn that he saw one of the old man’s eyes slowly open, and gaze into his (Ordynov’s) face with a mocking smile! Yes, the eyes of the two men met and challenged one another! Ordynov stood petrified. Presently the smile seemed to overspread the whole face, and something like icy, death-like laughter rang through the room! Ordynov started so violently that the dagger slipped from his hand, and fell with a clatter to the floor. At the sound Katerina uttered a cry, as though she too were awaking from a nightmare, while Murin slowly rose, and with a movement of his foot pushed the weapon away into a corner of the room. For a while Katerina remained kneeling like a statue—bolt upright, her eyes closed and her features convulsed; but at length, sinking her head upon her hands, she fell forward, crying in heartrending accents——

“Alesha, Alesha!”

In a moment Murin had seized her in his powerful arms, and pressed her to his bosom with incredible violence. Yet when she sought to hide her face in his breast the old man’s every feature grinned with such shameless, cynical laughter that Ordynov’s very being shuddered. The essence of fraud and deceit, the essence of jealousy and calculated tyranny—that is what spoke in the effrontery of that laughter.

“The woman is mad—mad!” muttered Ordynov as he turned and rushed from the house.

III

WHEN, AT EIGHT o’clock next morning, Ordynov—his nerves still shaken with the events of the previous night—opened Yaroslav Ilyitch’s door (whither by some unknown means he found himself wafted), he started back, and stood petrified, on perceiving that Murin was there before him. Yet, though the old man looked scarcely able to hold himself upright, he had refused Yaroslav’s kindly offer of a chair. As for Yaroslav, he uttered a cry of joy on perceiving Ordynov; but his delight was short-lived, for the next moment he was so seized with confusion that he could only keep vacillating between his chair and the table, without knowing exactly what next to say or to do. Though conscious that it was in the highest degree improper for him to be smoking and neglecting his visitors at such a juncture, his perturbation allowed him no choice but to continue drawing at his pipe (and that with all his might) as though there was some possible inspiration to be derived therefrom.