A few minutes later he felt he could not endure this painful, distressing association with his friends, and went to his own room without waiting for tea. He had scarcely lain down on his bed before Terenti appeared. Ever since the hunchback had decided to go to the Holy Cities to seek forgiveness for his sins, his face wore a clearer, happier expression, as though he experienced already a foretaste of the joy that release from his weight of guilt would achieve for him. Gently he approached his nephew's bed, and said, smiling and friendly, stroking his beard: "I saw you come in, and I thought, I'll go and have a chat. We shan't be here together much longer." "You're really going?" asked Ilya, drily. "As soon as it's warmer, off I go. I want to be in Kiev for Easter." "Look here! Couldn't you take little Masha with you?" "What? No; that's impossible," cried the hunchback, with a gesture of refusal. "Listen," Ilya went on, obstinately. "She's nothing to do here; and now she's just the age--Jakov, Petrusha, and all the rest, you understand? This house is like a gulf of destruction for every one, a damnable place! Let her go. Perhaps she'll never come back." "But how can I take her with me?" "Take her--just take her!" said Ilya, persisting. "You can spend for her the hundred roubles you were going to give me. I don't need your money. And she will pray for you. Her prayers will be worth a good deal." The hunchback came nearer, and said, after a pause: "A good deal--That's true--You're right. But I can't take the money from you. We'll leave it as we settled. And for Masha, I'll see to it." His eyes shone with joy, and he whispered: "Do you know whom I got to know yesterday? A famous man, Peter Vassilitsch. Have you never heard of the Bible preacher, a man of wisdom! God must have sent him to me, to free my soul from doubt concerning the Lord's forgiveness of a sinner like me." Ilya said nothing. He only wished that his uncle would leave him alone. With half-shut eyes he looked out of the window. "We talked of sin and the salvation of the soul," whispered Terenti. "He said to me: 'As the chisel needs the stone to gain its sharpness, so man heeds sin, to wear away his soul, and bring it to the dust at the feet of all-merciful God.'" Ilya looked at his uncle, and said, with a mocking laugh: "Tell me, is this preacher like Satan, by any chance?" "How can you talk like that?" and Terenti recoiled a step. "He's a God-fearing man, he's more famous than Antipa, your grandfather--yes." "Oh! all right, what else did he say?" Suddenly Ilya laughed, a dry, unpleasant laugh; his uncle turned away surprised and asked: "What's the matter with you?" "Nothing. He was quite right, that preacher. Yes--the devil! I think so too, word for word." "He said, too," Terenti began with relish, "that sin gives the soul wings--wings of repentance to fly to the throne of the Almighty." "Do you know," interrupted Ilya, "you're rather like Satan, too!"