“It was too startling.  Just fancy!  She thought that I was making preparations to leave her without saying anything.  I knelt by the side of her chair and entreated her to think of what she was saying!  She put her hand on my head, but she persists in her delusion all the same.  She had always thought that she was worthy of her children’s confidence, but apparently it was not so.  Her son could not trust her love nor yet her understanding—­and now I was planning to abandon her in the same cruel and unjust manner, and so on, and so on.  Nothing I could say....  It is morbid obstinacy....  She said that she felt there was something, some change in me....  If my convictions were calling me away, why this secrecy, as though she had been a coward or a weakling not safe to trust?  ‘As if my heart could play traitor to my children,’ she said....  It was hardly to be borne.  And she was smoothing my head all the time....  It was perfectly useless to protest.  She is ill.  Her very soul is....”

I did not venture to break the silence which fell between us.  I looked into her eyes, glistening through the veil.

“I!  Changed!” she exclaimed in the same low tone.  “My convictions calling me away!  It was cruel to hear this, because my trouble is that I am weak and cannot see what I ought to do.  You know that.  And to end it all I did a selfish thing.  To remove her suspicions of myself I told her of Mr. Razumov.  It was selfish of me.  You know we were completely right in agreeing to keep the knowledge away from her.  Perfectly right.  Directly I told her of our poor Victor’s friend being here I saw how right we have been.  She ought to have been prepared; but in my distress I just blurted it out.  Mother got terribly excited at once.  How long has he been here?  What did he know, and why did he not come to see us at once, this friend of her Victor?  What did that mean?  Was she not to be trusted even with such memories as there were left of her son?...  Just think how I felt seeing her, white like a sheet, perfectly motionless, with her thin hands gripping the arms of the chair.  I told her it was all my fault.”

I could imagine the motionless dumb figure of the mother in her chair, there, behind the door, near which the daughter was talking to me.  The silence in there seemed to call aloud for vengeance against an historical fact and the modern instances of its working.  That view flashed through my mind, but I could not doubt that Miss Haldin had had an atrocious time of it.  I quite understood when she said that she could not face the night upon the impression of that scene.  Mrs. Haldin had given way to most awful imaginings, to most fantastic and cruel suspicions.  All this had to be lulled at all costs and without loss of time.  It was no shock to me to learn that Miss Haldin had said to her, “I will go and bring him here at once.”  There was nothing absurd in that cry, no exaggeration of sentiment.  I was not even doubtful in my “Very well, but how?”