The boys began to fill up the grave. Egorka looked on in quiet astonishment as lumps of earth fell into the grave and the little mound kept on growing. The ground was smoothed down and the cross placed as before. Egorka walked up to it and read the inscription: “Boy Giorgiy Antipov.” Then the year, month, and date of his death. He was faintly astonished, but an ominous indifference already made captive his soul. Some one touched his shoulder and asked something. Egorka was silent. He looked as if he did not understand. “Come to me,” said Trirodov quietly to him. The little girl who always said “No” took Egorka by the hand and led him away. They went back by the same road as they came. The darkness closed after them. Egorka remained with the quiet children. He had no passport, and his life was different. CHAPTER XXVII Trirodov returned home. Like one returned from a grave, he felt happy and light-hearted. His heart was consumed with exultation and resolution. He recalled the talk he had had that day with Elisaveta. There rose before him the proud joyous vision of life transfigured by the force of creative art, of life created by the proud will. If love, or what seemed like love, came to him, why should he resist it? Whether it was a true emotion, or an illusion, was it not all the same? The will, exulting above the world, would determine everything as it wanted. It would have the power to erect a beautiful love over the helplessness of the exhausted senses. That which has so long weighed in the scales of consciousness, that which has so long and so desperately wrestled in the dark region of the unconscious now stood at a clear decision. Let the word “Yes” be said. Once more Yes. For a new grief? For a glorious triumph? It was all the same. If only he believed in her--and she in him. So much did one mean to the other now. Trirodov sat down at the table. He smiled, and for a few moments seemed lost in thought. Then he wrote quickly upon a light blue sheet of paper: “Elisaveta, I want your love. Love me, dear one, love me. I forget my knowledge, I reject my doubts, I become again as simple and as humble as a communicant of a radiant kingdom, like my dear children--and I only want your nearness and your kisses. Upon the earth, dear to our heart, I will pass by, in simple and joyous humility, with bare feet, like you--in order that I may come to you as you come to me. Love me. “Your GIORGIY.” There was a slight rustle behind the door. It seemed as if the whole house were filled with the quiet children. Trirodov sealed the letter. He wished to take it at once and leave it on the sill of her open window. He walked quietly, immersed in the wood’s darkness--and his feet felt the contact of warm moss, the dew-wet grass, and the simple, rough, beloved earth. A refreshing breeze blew from the river in the night coolness, but now and then there came a sickly, pungent gust of the forest fire. * * * * *