I determined to see if Gagin had found her.
As I hastened up the footpath I saw a light in Assja's chamber. It calmed me a little.
I drew near the house. The door was fastened. I knocked. A window in the darkened first story was carefully raised, and Gagin's head showed itself.
"She is come back," he whispered to me. "She is in her chamber, and undressing. All is as it should be."
"God be thanked!" I cried, in a transport of inexpressible joy. "God be thanked! Now all will be well. But you know we have something to say to each other."
"Another time," he answered, softly closing the window--"another time. For this, good-by."
"Till to-morrow then," I said. "Tomorrow everything will be clear."
"Good-by," Gagin repeated, and the window was shut. I came near to knocking again. I wished to tell Gagin at once that I sought his sister's hand. But such a wooing, at such an hour! "Till to-morrow then," I thought. "To-morrow I shall be happy!"
"To-morrow I shall be happy!" Happiness has no to-morrow; it has no yesterday; it knows of no past; it thinks of no future. The present belongs to it, and not even the present day--only the moment.
I do not know how I reached S----. Not my feet brought me; not the boat carried me; I was borne over as if on broad, mighty wings. My way led me by a thicket in which a nightingale was singing. It seemed to me it sang of my love and my joy.
The next morning, as I drew near the familiar little house, one circumstance seemed strange: all its windows were open, and the door as well. Scraps of paper lay strewn about the threshold, and behind the door a maid was visible with her broom.
"They're off!" she volunteered, before I could ask her if the Gagins were at home.
"They went at six o'clock this morning, and did not say where. But stop. You are surely Mr. N."
"There is a letter for you inside." She went in and returned with a letter. "Here it is, if you please."
"But it isn't possible. How can it be?" I said. The maid stared at me stupidly, and began to sweep.
I opened the letter. It was Gagin who wrote. From Assja not a line. He began with a hope that I would not be angry with him on account of his sudden departure. He felt assured that, after mature thought, I would agree to his decision. He had found no other way out of a situation which might easily become difficult, even dangerous. "Yesterday," he wrote, "as we were both waiting silently for Assja, I convinced myself fully that a separation was necessary. There are prejudices which I know how to respect. I understand that you cannot marry Assja. She has told me everything. For her own sake I am compelled to yield to her repeated, desperate prayers." In conclusion he expressed his regret that our acquaintance should be broken off so abruptly; wished me happiness; shook my hand affectionately; and assured me that it would be useless for me to try to find them.