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Next, Gubin was heard saying within the room:

“Whensoever an offence is done against the law I…”

At once a stream of impressive words from the other drowned his utterance:

“An offence is not always an offence of moment, since sometimes a person outgrows the law, and finds it too restrictive. No one person ought to be rated against another. For whom alone ought we to fear? Only the God in whose sight all of us have erred!”

And though in the elderly lady’s voice there was weariness and distaste, the words were spoken slowly and incisively. Upon this Gubin tried to murmur something or another, but again his utterance failed to edge its way into his interlocutor’s measured periods:

“No great achievement is it,” she said, “to condemn a fellow creature. For always it is easy to sit in judgment upon our fellows. And even if a fellow creature be allowed to pursue an evil course unchecked, his offence may yet prove productive of good. Remember how in every case the Saints reached God. Yet how truly sanctified, by the time that they did so reach Him, were they? Let this ever be borne in mind, for we are over-apt to condemn and punish!”

“In former days, Natalia Vassilievna, you took away from me my substance, you took my all. Also, let me recount to you how we fell into disagreement.”

“No; there is no need for that.”

“Thereafter, I ceased to be able to bear the contemplation of myself; I ceased to consider myself as of any value.”

“Let the past remain the past. That which must be is not to be avoided.”

“Through you, I say, I lost my peace of mind.”

Nadezhda nudged me, and whispered with gay malice:

“That is probably true, for they say that once he was one of her lovers.”

Then she recollected herself and, clapping her hands to her face, cried through her fingers:

“Oh good Lord! What have I said? No, no, you must not believe these tales. They are only slanders, for she is the best of women.”

“When evil has been done,” continued the quiet voice within the window, “it can never be set right by recounting it to others. He upon whom a burden has been laid should try to bear it. And, should he fail to bear it, the fact will mean that the burden has been beyond his strength.”

“It was through you that I lost everything. It was you that stripped me bare.”

“But to that which you lost I added movement. Nothing in life is ever lost; it merely passes from one hand to another–from the unskilled hand to the experienced– so that even the bone picked of a dog may ultimately become of value.”

“Yes, a bone–that is what I am.”

“Why should you say that? You are still a man.”

“Yes, a man, but a man useful for what?”

“Useful, even though the use may not yet be fully apparent.”

To this, after a pause, the speaker added:

“Now, depart in peace, and make no further attempt against this woman. Nay, do not even speak ill of her if you can help it, but consider everything that you saw to have been seen in a dream.”

“Ah!” was Gubin’s contrite cry. “It shall be as you say. Yet, though I should hate, I could not bear, to grieve you, I must confess that the height whereon you stand is–“

“Is what, 0h friend of mine?”

“Nothing; save that of all souls in this world you are, without exception, the best.”

“Yakov Petrovitch, in this world you and I might have ended our lives together in honourable partnership. And even now, if God be willing, we might do so.”

“No. Rather must farewell be said.”

All became quiet within the window, except that after a prolonged silence there came from the woman a deep sigh, and then a whisper of, “0h Lord!”

Treading softly, like a cat, Nadezhda darted away towards the steps; whereas I, less fortunate, was caught by the departing Gubin in the very act of leaving the neighbourhood of the window. Upon that he inflated his cheeks, ruffled up his sandy hair, turned red in the face like a man who has been through a fight, and cried in strange, querulous, high-pitched accents: