"He shouted: 'Kinsmen, do not kill me! Have some mercy, for Christ's sake, and I will make over to you everything--yes, everything into your good hands for ever! Only let me go away, and expiate my sins, and save my soul through prayer. Aye, I will go on a pilgrimage, and remain hidden my life long, to the very end. Never shall you hear of me again, nor see me.' Then Uncle Peter caught him a blow on the head, and his blood splashed out upon me. As he fell I--well, I ran away, and made for the tavern, where I knocked at the door and shouted: 'Sister, they have killed our father!' Upon that, she put her head out of the window, but only said: 'That merely means that the rascal is making an excuse for vodka.'... Aye, a terrible time it was--was that night! And how frightened I felt! At first, I made for the garret, but presently thought to myself: 'No; they would soon find me there, and put me to an end as well, for I am the heir direct, and should be the first to succeed to the property.' So I crawled on to the roof, and there lay hidden behind the chimney-stack, holding on with arms and legs, while unable to speak for sheer terror." "What were you afraid of?" a brusque voice interrupted. "What was I afraid of?" "At all events, you joined your uncle in killing your father, didn't you?" "In such an hour one has not time to think--one just kills a man because one can't help oneself, or because it seems so easy to kill." "True," the hoarser voice commented in dull and ponderous accents. "When once blood has flowed the fact leads to more blood, and if a man has started out to kill, he cares nothing for any reason--he finds good enough the reason which comes first to his hand." "But if this young fellow is speaking the truth, he had a BUSINESS reason--though, properly speaking, even property ought not to provoke quarrels." "Similarly one ought not to kill just when one chooses. Folk who commit such crimes should have justice meted out to them." "Yes, but it is difficult always to obtain such justice. For instance, this young fellow seems to have spent over a year in prison for nothing." "'For nothing'? Why, did he not entice his father into the hut, and then shut the door upon him, and throw a coat over his head? He has said so himself. 'For nothing,' indeed!" Upon this the rapid stream of sobbed, disconnected words, which I had heard before from some speaker poured forth anew. Somehow, I guessed that it came from the man in the dirty boots, as once more he recounted the story of the murder. "I do not wish to justify myself," he said. "I say merely that, inasmuch as I was promised a reprieve at the trial, I told everything, and was therefore allowed to go free, while my uncle and my brother were sentenced to penal servitude." "But you KNEW that they had agreed to kill him?" "Well, it is my idea that at first they intended only to give him a good fright. Never did my father recognise me as his son--always he called me a Jesuit."