One night, when escorting her home, he got as far as proposing to her. She only broke into a hearty laugh and took leave of him with a friendly grasp of the hand. Shortly afterwards she had disappeared; he heard that she had gone as governess into some aristocratic family in Podolia. And now he had found her again in this forsaken corner, in this forest village inhabited only by peasants, with not a single intelligent person near her. She had been living here all alone in this wilderness. And now she was dying.... All his former enthusiasm, and the unfulfilled dreams and desires of past days, suddenly sprang up within him and struck him like gusts of wind. A deadly pain seized his heart, and the poison of passion took hold of his blood. He returned on tiptoe to the sick-room, rested his elbows on the bed, and feasted on the sight of the marvellous contours of her bare shoulders and the lines of her bosom and neck. The girl was asleep; the veins on her temples were swollen, the corners of her mouth were moist, she exhaled fever heat, and drew in the air with a loud whistling sound. Dr. Paweł sat down beside her on the edge of the bed, gently fondled the ends of her soft, bright hair, and stroked it along his face, sobbing while he kissed it. "Stasia, Stachna! Dearest!" he whispered low. "You are not going to run away from me again, are you?... Never! ... you will be mine for ever ... do you hear?--for ever...." The exuberance of youth awoke in him from its lethargy. Henceforth everything would be different; he felt a great strength in him for doing his work with his heart in it. Pain and hope were mingled as in a flame which consumed him and gave him no respite. The night wore on. Though the hours went by slowly, more than six had passed since the messenger left. It was four o'clock in the morning. The doctor listened, starting up at every sound. He fancied each moment that someone was coming--opening the door--tapping at the window. He strained and strained with his whole organism to listen. The wind howled, the door of the stove rattled; then again there was silence. The minutes passed like ages; his nerves, overstrained by impatience, threw him into a state of trembling all over. When he took her temperature for the sixth time, the sick girl slowly opened her eyes; they looked almost black under their shade of dark lashes. Straining to look at him, she said in a hoarse voice: "Who's that?" But she fell back at once into her former state of unconsciousness. He cherished this moment as if it were a treasure. Oh, if only he had some quinine to lessen the pain in her head and restore her to consciousness! But the messenger had not arrived, and did not arrive.