Father Ignatius became silent, and there loomed before him an image of something huge, granite, and terrible, full of invisible dangers and of strange and indifferent people. And it was there that, alone and weak, his Vera had gone, and it was there they had lost her. An awful hatred against that terrible and mysterious city arose in the soul of Father Ignatius, and an anger against his daughter, who was silent--obstinately silent. “St. Petersburg has nothing to do with it,” said Vera morosely, and closed her eyes. “And nothing is the matter with me. Better go to bed, it is late.” “Verochka, my child,” whimpered her mother, “do tell me!” “_Akh_, Mamma!” Vera impatiently interrupted her. Father Ignatius sat down on a chair and laughed. “Well, then, it’s nothing?” he inquired ironically. “Father,” sharply ejaculated Vera, raising herself from the pillow, “you know that I love you and Mother. Well, I do feel a little weary. But that will pass. Do go to sleep, and I also wish to sleep. And to-morrow, or some other time, we’ll have a chat.” Father Ignatius arose so impetuously that the chair hit the wall, and he took his wife’s hand. “Let us go.” “Verochka!” “Let us go, I tell you!” shouted Father Ignatius. “If she has forgotten God, shall we----” Almost forcibly he led Olga Stepanovna out of the room, and when they descended the stairs, his wife, decreasing her gait, said in a harsh whisper: “It was you, priest, who have made her such! From you she learned her ways. And you’ll answer for it. _Akh_, unhappy creature that I am!” She burst into tears, and, as her vision grew dim, her foot, missing a step, would descend with a sudden jolt, as if she were eager to fall into some abyss which waited below. From that day Father Ignatius ceased to speak to his daughter, but she seemed not to notice it. As before, she lay in her room, or walked about, continually with the palms of her hands wiping her eyes, as if they contained some irritating foreign substance. And, crushed between these two silent people, the jolly, fun-loving wife of the priest quailed and seemed lost, not knowing what to say or do. Occasionally Vera took a stroll. A week after the interview she went out in the evening, as was her habit. She was not seen again alive, as that night she threw herself under the train, and it cut her in two.