PART VI
7. CHAPTER VII
(continued)
"What is awaiting you there? Some post or career for you?"
"What God sends . . . only pray for me." Raskolnikov went to the door,
but she clutched him and gazed despairingly into his eyes. Her face
worked with terror.
"Enough, mother," said Raskolnikov, deeply regretting that he had
come.
"Not for ever, it's not yet for ever? You'll come, you'll come
to-morrow?"
"I will, I will, good-bye." He tore himself away at last.
It was a warm, fresh, bright evening; it had cleared up in the
morning. Raskolnikov went to his lodgings; he made haste. He wanted to
finish all before sunset. He did not want to meet anyone till then.
Going up the stairs he noticed that Nastasya rushed from the samovar
to watch him intently. "Can anyone have come to see me?" he wondered.
He had a disgusted vision of Porfiry. But opening his door he saw
Dounia. She was sitting alone, plunged in deep thought, and looked as
though she had been waiting a long time. He stopped short in the
doorway. She rose from the sofa in dismay and stood up facing him. Her
eyes, fixed upon him, betrayed horror and infinite grief. And from
those eyes alone he saw at once that she knew.
"Am I to come in or go away?" he asked uncertainly.
"I've been all day with Sofya Semyonovna. We were both waiting for
you. We thought that you would be sure to come there."
Raskolnikov went into the room and sank exhausted on a chair.
"I feel weak, Dounia, I am very tired; and I should have liked at this
moment to be able to control myself."
He glanced at her mistrustfully.
"Where were you all night?"
|