“God forgive him!” I repeated, like one who had lost his senses, as I strode up and down the rooms which once I had loved so much, but which now seemed to me so lonely. The day had been very cloudy, with occasional showers of rain. I ordered my horse to be saddled, and, in my despair, rode off to the steppes. I did not draw rein until I reached the borders of the forest which surrounded the estate of Rakitin. There I wandered through the brushwood like a madman. The wind whistled through the trees and swept over the bare fields. As night came on, I fastened my horse to a tree, and, leaving the forest, made my way through the garden to the window of Irena’s room. Ah! what I felt at that moment! I remember, it seemed to me that I had only to call her, and she would throw herself into my arms, and we would go together to the end of the world. Fool that I was! I hoped to see her, to exchange thoughts with her, to pour out my heart, so full of bitter pain. “Leave your father! leave him!” I whispered, gazing in at her window. “He does not pity you; he does not love you.” But I pleaded in vain: her window was dark, and nowhere in all the silent house could I hear one word or see one sign of life. On the following night I again went through the garden, and watched the well-known window, through which Irena had often given me her hand or thrown me a letter. Would she not look out? would she not give me some message? One night, after sending her a note, to which I received no answer, I even determined to kill myself before her window, and took my pistol in my hand. “But no,” I decided. “Why such a sacrifice? Perhaps Irena has already bartered me for a richer suitor. Wait a little; I may find out who the happy rival is.” Afterwards, but too late, I learned that Rakitin, after writing his refusal of me, had carried his daughter off to a distant property owned by one of his relations, somewhere on the Oka, and was keeping her there in strict confinement. CHAPTER III. _IMPORTANT NEWS._ My grandmother was not less struck by this than I. One day, about a week later, calling me to her, she said: “You have guessed who your rival is? One distantly related to the Rakitins; a prince and Kammerherr (gentleman of the chamber). I have found out, Pavelinka, that they sent for him on purpose, and that he was visiting them all the time you were looking for her, and that it was he who helped them to carry her off without leaving any trace. Forget her, _mon ange_, forget Irena; for no doubt she resembles her father in his pride. Console yourself. God will send you a better wife.”