Vic said these words soothingly, in the tone used by grown-up people when they would soothe spoilt children. The moon emerged from the forest to meet the advancing cloud, and the edge of the cloud, silvered by her rays, assumed a soft opal tint In the corn the quails were calling; somewhere or other a land-rail rattled. The darkness of the night was growing denser and denser. "And this is all really true," began Efimushka softly; "Ivan Aleksandrovich will be glad to see his own brother, and you, of course, will begin your life again. And this is really so ... And we will go hunting again ... Only 'tis not altogether as it was. I daresay you have done some deeds in the course of your life. And it is--ah, what is it?" Vic Tuchkov laughed. "Brother Efimushka, I have certainly done deeds in my life and to spare ... I have run through my share of the property ... I have not succeeded in the service, I have been an actor, I have been a timber-trade clerk, after that I've had a troupe of actors of my own ... and after that I've gone quite to the dogs, have owed debts right and left, got mixed up in a shady affair. Ah! I've been everything--and lost everything." The prisoner waved his hand and smiled good-humouredly. "Brother Efimushka, I am no longer a gentleman. I am quite cured of that. Now you and I will live together. Eh! what do you say?" "Nothing at all," said Efimushka with a stifled voice; "I'm ashamed, that's all. Here have I been saying to you all sorts of things ... senseless words, and all sorts of rubbish. If it were a muzhik I could understand it.... Well, shall we make a night of it here? I'll make a fire." "All right! make it!" The prisoner stretched himself at full length on the ground, face upwards, while the Sotsky disappeared into the skirt of the wood, from whence speedily resounded the cracking of twigs and branches. Soon Efimushka reappeared with an armful of firewood, and in a few moments a fiery serpent was merrily creeping along a little hillock of dry branches. The old comrades gazed at it meditatively, sitting opposite each other, and smoking their one pipe alternately. "Just like it used to be," said Efimushka sadly. "Only times are changed," said Tuchkov. "Well, life is stronger than character. Lord, how she has broken you down." "It is still undecided which of the two will prevail--she or I," laughed Tuchkov. For a time they were silent. "Oh, Lord God! Vic! how lightly you take it all!" exclaimed Efimushka bitterly. "Certainly! Why not? What has been--is gone for ever!" observed Tuchkov philosophically. Behind them arose the dark wall of the softly whispering forest, the bonfire crackled merrily; all around them the shadows danced their noiseless dance, and over the plain lay impenetrable darkness. VII.--HER LOVER. An acquaintance of mine once told me the following story.