“Who is there? Is it you, cousin, in this weather?”
“So do I want to. I came down the precipice, and lost my way in the bushes.
“Who is driving you? Is there room for me.”
“Plenty of room,” said a masculine voice. “Give me your hand to get up.” Raisky gave his hand, and was hauled up by a strong arm. Next to Vera sat Marina, and the two, huddled together like wet chickens, were trying to protect themselves from the drenching rain by the leather covering.
“Who is with you?” asked Raisky in a low voice. “Whose horses are these, and who is driving?”
“The Forester,” whispered Vera, and he would have repeated her words if she had not nudged him to keep silence. “Later,” she said.
He remembered the talk with his aunt, her praises of the Forester, her hints of his being a good match. This then was the hero of the romance, the Forester. He tried to get a look at him, but only saw an ordinary hat with a wide brim, and a tall, broad-shouldered figure wrapped in a rain coat.
The Forester handled the reins skilfully as he drove up the steep hill, cracked his whip, whistled, held the horses’ heads with a firm hand when they threatened to shy at a flash of lightning, and turned round to those sheltered in the body of the vehicle.
“How do you feel, Vera Vassilievna,” he inquired anxiously. “Are you very cold and wet?”
“I am quite comfortable, Ivan Ivanovich; the rain does not catch me.”
“You must take my raincoat. God forbid that you should take cold. I should never forgive myself all my life for having driven you.”
“You weary me with your friendly anxiety. Don’t bother about anything but your horses.”
“As you please,” replied Ivan Ivanovich with hasty obedience, turning to his horses, and he cast only an occasional anxious glance towards Vera.
They drove past the village to the door of the new house. Ivan Ivanovich jumped down and hammered on the door with his riding whip. Handing over the care of his horses to Prokor, Tarasska and Egorka, who hurried up for the purpose, he stood by the steps, took Vera in his arms, and carried her carefully and respectfully, like a precious burden, through the ranks of wide-eyed lackeys and maid-servants bearing lights, to the divan in the hall.
Raisky followed, wet and dirty, without once removing his eyes from them.
