in; she could scarcely stand upright, and was shaking all over. ‘“Here,” said my father with an effort, “I confide to you my daughter--your sister. You will hear all about her from Yakov,” he added, pointing to the valet. ‘Acia sobbed, and fell with her face on the bed.… Half-an-hour later my father died. ‘This was what I learned. Acia was the daughter of my father by a former maidservant of my mother’s, Tatiana. I have a vivid recollection of this Tatiana, I remember her tall, slender figure, her handsome, stern, clever face, with big dark eyes. She had the character of being a proud, unapproachable girl. As far as I could find out from Yakov’s respectful, unfinished sentences, my father had become attached to her some years after my mother’s death. Tatiana was not living then in my father’s house, but in the hut of a married sister, who had charge of the cows. My father became exceedingly fond of her, and after my departure from the country he even wanted to marry her, but she herself would not consent to be his wife, in spite of his entreaties. ‘“The deceased Tatiana Vassilievna,” Yakov informed me, standing in the doorway with his hands behind him, “had good sense in everything, and she didn’t want to do harm to your father. ‘A poor wife I should be for you, a poor sort of lady I should make,’ so she was pleased to say, she said so before me.” Tatiana would not even move into the house, and went on living at her sister’s with Acia. In my childhood I used to see Tatiana only on saints’ days in church. With her head tied up in a dark kerchief, and a yellow shawl on her shoulders, she used to stand in the crowd, near a window--her stern profile used to stand out sharply against the transparent window-pane--and she used to pray sedately and gravely, bowing low to the ground in the old-fashioned way. When my uncle carried me off, Acia was only two years old, and she lost her mother when she was nine.