‘Eh, daughter?’ answered Harlov; and he came down to the very edge of the wall. His face, as far as I could make it out, wore a strange smile, a bright, mirthful--and for that very reason peculiarly strange and evil--smile.… Many years later I saw just the same smile on the face of a man condemned to death. ‘Stop, father; come down. We are in fault; we give everything back to you. Come down.’ ‘What do you mean by disposing of what’s ours?’ put in Sletkin. Evlampia merely scowled more angrily. ‘I give you back my share. I give up everything. Give over, come down, father! Forgive us; forgive me.’ Harlov still went on smiling. ‘It’s too late, my darling,’ he said, and each of his words rang out like brass. ‘Too late your stony heart is touched! The rock’s started rolling downhill--there’s no holding it back now! And don’t look to me now; I’m a doomed man! You’d do better to look to your Volodka; see what a pretty fellow you’ve picked out! And look to your hellish sister; there’s her foxy nose yonder thrust out of the window; she’s peering yonder after that husband of hers! No, my good friends; you would rob me of a roof over my head, so I will leave you not one beam upon another! With my own hands I built it, with my own hands I destroy it,--yes, with my hands alone! See, I’ve taken no axe to help me!’ He snorted at his two open hands, and clutched at the centre beam again. ‘Enough, father,’ Evlampia was saying meanwhile, and her voice had grown marvellously caressing, ‘let bygones be bygones. Come, trust me; you always trusted me. Come, get down; come to me to my little room, to my soft bed. I will dry you and warm you; I will bind up your wounds; see, you have torn your hands. You shall live with me as in Christ’s bosom; food shall be sweet to you--and sleep sweeter yet. Come, we have done wrong! yes, we were puffed up, we have sinned; come, forgive!’ Harlov shook his head. ‘Talk away! Me believe you! Never again! You’ve murdered all trust in my heart! You’ve murdered everything! I was an eagle, and became a worm for you … and you,--would you even crush the worm? Have done! I loved you, you know very well,--but now you are no daughter to me, and I’m no father to you … I’m a doomed man! Don’t meddle! As for you, fire away, coward, mighty man of valour!’ Harlov bellowed suddenly at Sletkin. ‘Why is it you keep aiming and don’t shoot? Are you mindful of the law; if the recipient of a gift commits an attempt upon the life of the giver,’ Harlov enunciated distinctly, ‘then the giver is empowered to claim everything back again? Ha, ha! don’t be afraid, law-abiding man! I’d make no claims. I’ll make an end of everything myself.… Here goes!’ ‘Father!’ for the last time Evlampia besought him. ‘Silence!’ ‘Martin Petrovitch! brother, be generous and forgive!’ faltered Souvenir. ‘Father! dear father!’ ‘Silence, bitch!’ shouted Harlov. At Souvenir he did not even glance,--he merely spat in his direction. XXVII