Jakov appeared in the door, and said wonderingly: "What on earth are you screaming at? Can hear you in the courtyard." "Jakov!" cried the girl joyfully, eager to tell him. "I'm going away, on the pilgrimage. Ilya's promised to speak to the hunchback, he'll take me with him," and she laughed delightedly. "Will he do it?" Jakov asked thoughtfully. "Why not? She won't get in the way, and it's a good thing for her. Look at her, her eyes are shining, hardly like a live person." "Yes--yes," said Jakov. After a moment's pause, he began to whistle softly. "What's up," asked Ilya. "Now I'm done for, all alone here, like the moon in the sky." "Oh, hire a nurse," said Ilya laughing. "I'll take to drink," said Jakov, shaking his head. Masha looked at him, hung her head, and went towards the door; from there she spoke in a reproachful, sad voice: "How weak you are, Jakov!" "And you're very strong, aren't you? leaving a friend in the lurch. Nice way you treat me--how shall I endure it without you?" He sat down at the table opposite Ilya with a gloomy face, and said: "Suppose I just go with Terenti, too, eh! on the quiet?" "Do it! I would," advised Ilya. "Yes, but my father'll put the police on me!" All were silent. Jakov began with forced gaiety: "It's jolly to get drunk! You think of nothing, you understand nothing, and it's jolly." Masha put the samovar on the table, and said, shaking her head: "Oh, you Aren't you ashamed to talk like that?" "You can't talk," cried Jakov, crossly. "Your father doesn't worry you--let's you do as you like. You live as you please." "A nice sort of life!" answered Masha. "I'd run away to get rid of it." "It's bad for us all," said Ilya softly, and fell to brooding again. Jakov began looking thoughtfully out of the window. "If one could get away, anywhere, out of all this, sit in a wood, by a river, and think about things." "That would be silly, to run away from life," said Ilya, peevishly. Jakov looked at him inquiringly, and said shyly: "D'you know, I've found a book." "What sort of book?" "Very old. It's bound in leather. It looks like a psalter, and it's really a heretic book. I bought it of a Tartar for seventy kopecks." "What's it called?" asked Ilya. He had no wish for conversation, but felt that silence might be perilous for him, and compelled himself to keep talking.