I felt along the wall till I reached the stove, leaned up against it and asked: "Will there be no light?" The girl gave a little laugh. "What kind of a light?" she asked. "Oh, you wanton!" I thought to myself, but remained silent. I could hardly make out the girl. She was in the dark, like a black cloud in a stormy sky. "Why don't you speak?" she asked. Her voice was masterful. She must be rich, I thought, and I collected myself and said: "It is for you to speak." "Were you serious when you asked me about my running away from here?" I stopped to think how I could best insult her, but then, like a coward, I answered quietly: "No. It was only to test your piety." Again she lit a match. Her face stood out clearly and her black eyes gazed boldly. It was unpleasant for me. I got used to the darkness and saw that she stood, tall and black, in the middle of the room, and her bearing was strangely straight. "You need not test my piety," she whispered hotly. "I did not call you here for that, and if you do not understand, go away from here." Her breast heaved and there was something serious in her voice--nothing loose. In the wall opposite me was a window, and it looked like a path which had been cut out of the darkness into the night. The sight of it was disagreeable to me. I felt uncomfortable, for I understood that I had made a mistake, and it became more and more painful to me, so that my limbs trembled. She continued talking. "I have nowhere to run away to. My uncle drove me here by force, but I can live here no longer. I shall hang myself." Then she became silent, as if lost in an abyss. I lost myself entirely, but she moved nearer to me and her breath came with difficulty. "What do you wish?" I asked her. She came up to me and put her hand on my shoulder. It trembled, and I, too, shook all over. My knees became weak and the darkness entered my throat and stifled me. "Perhaps she is possessed," I thought to myself. But she began to sob as she spoke, and her breath came hot on my face. "I gave birth to a son, and they took him away from me and drove me here, where I cannot live. They tell me that my child is dead. My uncle and aunt say it, my guardians. Perhaps they have killed him. Perhaps they abandoned him. What can one know, my dear friend? I have still two years to be in their power before I reach my majority, but I cannot remain here." The words came from her inmost heart, and I felt guilty before her. I was sorry for her, and also a little afraid. She seemed half insane. I did not know whether to believe her or not. But she continued her whispering, which was broken by sobs: