An oppressive, angry feeling sank like a stone on Vera’s heart.  She was indignant with her aunt, she hated her; she was so sick of her aunt that her heart was full of misery and loathing.  But what was she to do?  To stop her mouth?  To be rude to her?  But what would be the use?  Suppose she struggled with her, got rid of her, made her harmless, prevented her grandfather from flourishing his stick—­ what would be the use of it?  It would be like killing one mouse or one snake in the boundless steppe.  The vast expanse, the long winters, the monotony and dreariness of life, instil a sense of helplessness; the position seems hopeless, and one wants to do nothing—­everything is useless.

Alyona came in, and bowing low to Vera, began carrying out the arm-chairs to beat the dust out of them.

“You have chosen a time to clean up,” said Vera with annoyance.  “Go away.”

Alyona was overwhelmed, and in her terror could not understand what was wanted of her.  She began hurriedly tidying up the dressing-table.

“Go out of the room, I tell you,” Vera shouted, turning cold; she had never had such an oppressive feeling before.  “Go away!”

Alyona uttered a sort of moan, like a bird, and dropped Vera’s gold watch on the carpet.

“Go away!” Vera shrieked in a voice not her own, leaping up and trembling all over.  “Send her away; she worries me to death!” she went on, walking rapidly after Alyona down the passage, stamping her feet.  “Go away!  Birch her!  Beat her!” Then suddenly she came to herself, and just as she was, unwashed, uncombed, in her dressing-gown and slippers, she rushed out of the house.  She ran to the familiar ravine and hid herself there among the sloe-trees, so that she might see no one and be seen by no one.  Lying there motionless on the grass, she did not weep, she was not horror-stricken, but gazing at the sky open-eyed, she reflected coldly and clearly that something had happened which she could never forget and for which she could never forgive herself all her life.

“No, I can’t go on like this,” she thought.  “It’s time to take myself in hand, or there’ll be no end to it. . . .  I can’t go on like this. . . .”

At midday Dr. Neshtchapov drove by the ravine on his way to the house.  She saw him and made up her mind that she would begin a new life, and that she would make herself begin it, and this decision calmed her.  And following with her eyes the doctor’s well-built figure, she said, as though trying to soften the crudity of her decision: 

“He’s a nice man. . . .  We shall get through life somehow.”

She returned home.  While she was dressing, Auntie Dasha came into the room, and said: 

“Alyona upset you, darling; I’ve sent her home to the village.  Her mother’s given her a good beating and has come here, crying.”

“Auntie,” said Vera quickly, “I’m going to marry Dr. Neshtchapov.  Only talk to him yourself . . .  I can’t.”