“I will tell you all, Vera, and you must hear my confession. Judge me severely, but pardon me, and God will pardon us both.”
“I will not, I ought not, I may not,” cried Vera. “To what end should I hear it?”
“So that I may suffer once more, as I suffered five-and-forty years ago. You know my sin, and Boris shall know it. He may laugh at the grey hairs of old Kunigunde.”
As she strode up and down, shaking her head in her fanatical seriousness, with sorrow and triumphant dignity in her face, her resemblance to the old family portrait in the gallery was very marked.
Beside her Vera felt like a small and pitiful child as she gazed timidly into her aunt’s eyes; she measured her own young strength by the strength of this old woman who had ripened and remained unbroken in the long struggle of life.
“My whole life can never repay what you have done for me, Grandmother. Let this be the end of your penance, and tell me no more. If you are determined that Boris shall know, I will whisper a word about your past to him. Since I have seen your anguish, why should you suffer a longer martyrdom? I will not listen. It is not my place to sit in judgment on you. Let me hold your grey hairs sacred.”
Tatiana Markovna sighed, and embraced Vera.
“As you will. Your will is like God’s forgiveness to me, and I am grateful to you for sparing my grey hairs.”
“Now,” said Vera, “let us go across to your house, where we can both rest.”
Tatiana Markovna almost carried her across to the new house, laid her on her own bed, and lay down beside her.
When Vera had fallen peacefully asleep, her aunt rose cautiously, and, in the light of the lamp, watched the marble beauty of her forehead, her closed eyes, all sculptured pure and delicate as if by a master hand, and at the expression of deep peace that lay on her face. She made the sign of the cross over Vera as she slept, touched her forehead with her lips, and sank on her knees in prayer.
“Have mercy on her!” she breathed. “If Thy anger is not yet appeased, turn it from her and strike my grey head.”
Presently she lay down beside Vera, with her arm around her neck. Vera woke occasionally, opened her eyes, and closed them again. She pressed closer and closer to Tatiana Markovna as if no harm could befall her within the circle of those faithful arms.