“What do you want?”
“Is Jadrino far from here?”
“Yes, yes! Is it far?”
“Not far; about ten versts.”
At this reply, Vladimir grasped his hair and stood motionless, like a man condemned to death.
“Where do you come from?” continued the old man.
Vladimir had not the courage to answer the question.
“Listen, old man,” said he, “can you procure me horses to take me to Jadrino?”
“How should we have such things as horses?” replied the peasant. “Can I obtain a guide? I will pay him whatever he asks.”
“Wait,” said the old man, closing the shutter. “I will send my son out to you; he will guide you.”
Vladimir waited. But a minute had scarcely elapsed when he began knocking again. The shutter was raised, and the beard again reappeared.
“What do you want?”
“What about your son?”
“He’ll be out presently; he is putting on his boots. Are you cold? Come in and warm yourself.”
“Thank you; send your son out quickly.”
The door creaked; a lad came out with a cudgel and went on in front, at one time pointing out the road, at another searching for it among the drifted snow.
“What is the time?” Vladimir asked him.
“It will soon be daylight,” replied the young peasant. Vladimir spoke not another word.
Vladimir paid the guide
The cocks were crowing, and it was already light when they reached Jadrino. The church was closed. Vladimir paid the guide and drove into the priest’s courtyard. His sledge was not there. What news awaited him!…
But let us return to the worthy proprietors of Nenaradova, and see what is happening there.
Nothing.
The old people awoke and went into the parlor, Gavril Gavrilovitch in a night-cap, and flannel doublet, Praskovia Petrovna in a wadded dressing-gown. The tea-urn (samovar) was brought in, and Gavril Gavrilovitch sent a servant to ask Maria Gavrilovna how she was and how she had passed the night. The servant returned saying that the young lady had not slept very well, but that she felt better now, and that she would come down presently into the parlor. And indeed, the door opened and Maria Gavrilovna entered the room and wished her father and mother good morning.
“How is your head, Masha?” asked Gavril Gavrilovitch.
“Better, papa,” replied Masha.
“Very likely you inhaled the fumes from the charcoal yesterday,” said Praskovia Petrovna.
“Very likely, mamma,” replied Masha.
The day passed happily enough, but in the night Masha was taken ill. A doctor was sent for from the town. He arrived in the evening and found the sick girl delirious. A violent fever ensued, and for two weeks the poor patient hovered on the brink of the grave.
Read More about John of Damascus part 20
