the heavens were a glorious, triumphant, impenetrable blue; there was a faint glimmer of greenish light on the western horizon over which brooded damp low clouds. the air was humid, soft, and redolent with the aroma of earth and melting snow. from all around came a faint medley of echoing sounds…. the wind fell completely, not a tree stirred; the ferns stood motionless with all the magic of the springtime among their roots. so calm and still was the night, the earth herself, it seemed, stopped turning in that wonderful stillness.
ivanov lighted a cigarette, and as the match flared between his fingers, illuminating his black beard, his trembling hands were distinctly visible. his pointer gek came out of the darkness and fawned round his legs.
through the darkness of the windless night rang the church bell tolling for the last gospel service; it seemed to peal just outside the manor. the yard was silent, but once or twice aganka's voice could be heard from the cattle-shed calling to the cows, and the sound of milk falling into her pail was faintly audible.
ivanov listened to the church chimes and the subdued sounds of night round the manor, then noiselessly, well accustomed to the obscurity, he descended the steps; only gek was at his side, the other dogs did not hear him.
cold raindrops fell from the trees in tiny shining globules of iridescent light, close by him an owl fluttered in a tangle of branches, uttering its dreadful cry of joy as it flashed past.
ivanov walked through the fields, descended by a chalky ribbon of a footpath to the ravine, crossed over it by a narrow shadow-dappled pathway hidden among a maze of trees, and made his way along its further ridge to a forest watch-house. it stood in a bare open space, exposed to the swift rushing dance of the winds, and close to the naked trunks of three ancient pines that still reared their grim, shaggy heads to the sky and spilled their pungent balsam perfumes into the air. behind it loomed the faint grey shadow of an embankment.
a dog at the watch-house began to bark. gek growled in return and suddenly disappeared. the dogs became silent. a man appeared on the step with a lantern.
"who is there?" he asked quietly.
"it is i," said ivanov.
"you, sergius mitrich?… aha! but arina is still at church … went off there … busy with her nonsense." the watchman paused. "shall i go in and turn off the light? the express will soon be passing. will you come in? arina will be back before long. the wife's at home."
"no, i'm going into the forest."
"as you wish." the watchman passed along the embankment with his lantern and approached the bridge.
ivanov left the watch-house, and went into the forest, walking along the edge of the ravine towards the river slope. a train rushed out from the forest on the further side of the river, its flaming eyes reflected in the dark shiny water; it moved forward, rolling loudly and harshly over the bridge.
it was that hour of spring-time when, despite the many noises, there was still an atmosphere of peace, and the burgeoning, luxuriantly- clad earth could almost be heard breathing as it absorbed the vernal moisture; the clash of the stream as it struck the rocks in the ravine was hushed for the night. nevertheless it seemed as though the bold-browed, rugged wood-demon—awakened by spring—was shaking his wings in the water.
beyond the ravine and wood, beyond the river to the right, left, behind, and before, the birds still chirruped over the currents. below, not many steps away, the stream flowed almost noiselessly; only, as though immeasurably remote the confused gurgle of its waters broke the profound quiet. far away rose a soft murmur. the air hummed and shook with the roar of distant rapids.
ivanov leaned against a birch tree, laid his rifle beside him, struck a match and began to smoke. the flickering light illuminated the white trunks of the trees, the withered herbage of last year's growth and a path leading down the embankment. arina had descended it many times.
the church bells in the village were ringing for evensong. from the church precincts twinkled the yellow lights of candles and lanterns, then there was the hum of people's voices. many of the lights dispersed to the right and left, others moved down to the river side. there was the sound of foot-falls on the bottom of a boat and the splashing of oars. someone called out:
"wai … ait … mitri … ich!"
there was a clanking of iron—a boat-chain; then stillness. only the lights showed that the boat had been launched into the middle of the river and was floating down stream. soon the murmur of voices again, and the plash of oars, and now these sounds were quite close to ivanov. one of the men was teasing the girls, the latter laughed at first, then all at once they were silent.
the boat was made fast to the bridge, the passengers bustling about for a long time on landing. the ferryman collected his paper roubles, the men continued merry-making with the girls. their rugged forms— their chest, knees and chins were clearly discernible in the lights they carried. they all strolled up a narrow pathway, but one light withdrew from the rest and moved along a short cut that led to the watch-house—it was arina's. ivanov held gek in tightly, the dog was straining to rush down the embankment.
arina slowly ascended the steep incline, planting her broad, short heavily-shod feet firmly in the sticky mud; her breath came pantingly. she wore a red jacket, unbuttoned in the front through which her large bosom was visible in the lantern-light. the reflection shone upon her bent face, illuminating her lips, her bluish cheek-bones and dark arched brows; only her eyes were invisible in the darkness, and their cavities seemed enormous. the night's density gave way before the light of her lantern and the silvery trunks of birch trees glimmered ahead.
ivanov crossed the road in front of her. arina stopped with a sudden gasp, and he felt the touch of her warm breath.
"how you scared me!" she exclaimed quickly, stretching out her hand.
"how are you? i have been at the church service. how you scared me!"
ivanov was about to draw her hand towards him, but she withdrew it, saying sternly: "no, you musn't, i'm in a hurry to get home, i have no time. let me go."
ivanov smiled faintly, and dropped her hands.
"all right, it does not matter, i will come to-morrow at dusk." then in a low voice he added: "will you come?"
arina moved closer to him, and she too spoke under her breath: "yes, come this way. and we will have a walk … bother my father! but go now, i am in a hurry … there is the house to put straight…. i feel the baby under my heart. go!"
the first warm rain drops fell from the invisible sky as ivanov walked across the meadows; at first they were sparse, pattering noisily on his leather jacket; then they began to fall more heavily and he was soon enveloped in the sonorous downpour of a vernal shower. close to the manor gek darted aside and disappeared down the ravine, from whence arose the rustling of wings, and the perturbed cries of cranes. gek barked, some dogs on a neighbouring farm answered him; to these, others responded from a distant village, and then again, from far away there was borne over the earth the clear springtime baying of other dogs.
on entering the main avenue of the park, ivanov noticed the glow of a cigarette suddenly disappearing down a side-walk; afterwards he encountered aganka at a gate.
"you!" he exclaimed. "on the run as usual? so you have made friends with a smoker this time?"
the girl giggled loudly and ran off, splashing through the mud towards the cow-shed; then she called out innocently:
"i have put the milk by the window in your study."
ivanov lingered a while on the doorstep scraping the mud off his boots, then stretched himself vigorously, working the muscles of his arms and reflecting that it was high time for him to be in bed, in a sound healthy sleep, so as to be up at dawn on the morrow.
