“Yes; you and I, prince, have also ‘oversalted’ it!” said Ekaterina. “Why not more frankness with me?” * * * * * “I am the cause of everything,” decided Irena, after long hours of doubt and anguish. “I was the cause of Konsov’s leaving his native land. It was on my account he gave way to despair, and tried to help that unfortunate person, and then perished. I must make amends now for his broken life, and implore God to forgive me my share of sins in all this unhappy affair. I am now alone, and have nothing to expect from the world.” In 1776, Rakitina left her estate in the hands of her father’s serfs, and accompanied by Vâra (who had that year become engaged to one of the teachers of the Muscovite Seminary), started for a small nunnery not far from Kieff, and entered it as a novice, hoping soon to be able to take the veil. However much Vâra implored her, or tried to convince her, to dissuade her from taking such a step, Irena was firm, and having put on the hood and nun’s dress, repeated only one thing--“I am the cause of all, and therefore must pray for him, and suffer all my life.” But Irena could not give up all her thoughts to prayer, however much she wished to. CHAPTER XXXII. _“A ROSE AND A MYRTLE.”_ Five years passed by, and in May, 1780, Rakitina was again in Petersburg. Her friend Vâra was already married and in Moscow. Father Peter was, as before, priest of the Cathedral of Kazan. Irena went to see him. He was delighted and eagerly began to ask her about past and present events. “Is it possible that you are even till now waiting and hoping that your _fiancé_ is yet alive?” he asked. “For how many years you are uselessly tormenting yourself! Were he alive, be sure he would have sent some message--I do not say to you--to his friends, to his relations.” “Oh! don’t, don’t, Father,” answered Irena, drying her eyes; “I will give up all, sacrifice everything.…” “Young lady, that is a sin; you are tempting Providence, you are imitating the heathens.” “But what can I do?” answered Irena; “I am always seeing such awful prophetic dreams, one especially. Oh! that dream; it came to me not long ago, several nights together.”… Irena was silent. “What dream was it? Tell me all; confide in me.” “It seemed to me that he approached my bedside--he was not a bit altered--just as he was the last time I saw him in our village, stately, handsome, amiable; and he said to me, ‘I am still alive, Irenushka. Where the sea murmurs, night and day, I look for you, morning and evening, thinking perhaps you’ll come, find me, and set me free.’… Ah! tell me, where must I look, what must I do, whom must I ask? I dare not trouble the empress another time.…”