and wrapped her shawl round her, and off we drove.  She says nothing and I say nothing.  Just as we were coming up to the house she says, ‘And how’s mother; is she alive?’ ’Yes, she’s alive.’  ’And father; is he alive?  ‘Yes, he is.’  ’Forgive me, Taras,’ she says, ’for my folly.  I did not myself know what I was doing.’  So I say, ’Words won’t mend matters.  I have forgiven you long ago,’ and I said no more.  We got home, and she just fell at mother’s feet.  Mother says, ‘The Lord will forgive you.’  And father said, ‘How d’you do?’ and ’What’s past is past.  Live as best you can.  Now,’ says he, ’is not the time for all that; there’s the harvest to be gathered in down at Skorodino,’ he says.  ’Down on the manured acre, by the Lord’s help, the ground has borne such rye that the sickle can’t tackle it.  It’s all interwoven and heavy, and has sunk beneath its weight; that must be reaped.  You and Taras had better go and see to it to-morrow.’  Well, friend, from that moment she took to the work and worked so that every one wondered.  At that time we rented three desiatins, and by God’s help we had a wonderful crop both of oats and rye.  I mow and she binds the sheaves, and sometimes we both of us reap.  I am good at work and not afraid of it, but she’s better still at whatever she takes up.  She’s a smart woman, young, and full of life; and as to work, friend, she’d grown that eager that I had to stop her.  We get home, our fingers swollen, our arms aching, and she, instead of resting, rushes off to the barn to make binders for the sheaves for next day.  Such a change!”

“Well, and to you?  Was she kinder, now?” asked the gardener.

“That’s beyond question.  She clings to me as if we were one soul.  Whatever I think she understands.  Even mother, angry as she was, could not help saying:  ’It’s as if our Theodosia had been transformed; she’s quite a different woman now!’ We were once going to cart the sheaves with two carts.  She and I were in the first, and I say, ‘How could you think of doing that, Theodosia?’ and she says, ’How could I think of it? just so, I did not wish to live with you.  I thought I’d rather die than live with you!’ I say, ‘And now?’ and she says, ‘Now you’re in my heart!’” Taras stopped, and smiled joyfully, shook his head as if surprised.  “Hardly had we got the harvest home when I went to soak the hemp, and when I got home there was a summons, she must go to be tried, and we had forgotten all about the matter that she was to be tried for.”

“It can only be the evil one,” said the gardener.  “Could any man of himself think of destroying a living soul?  We had a fellow once—­” and the gardener was about to commence his tale when the train began to stop.

“It seems we are coming to a station,” he said.  “I’ll go and have a drink.”

The conversation stopped, and Nekhludoff followed the gardener out of the carriage onto the wet platform of the station.

CHAPTER XLII.