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“As she didn’t come Sunday, you should ask what she was doing. I know you are jealous, you old dog!”

“Oh, there are many like her,” said Vassili, carelessly.

“Are there?” said Serejka, imitating him. “Ah, you peasants, you’re all alike. As long as you gather your honey, it’s all one to you.”

“What’s she to you?” broke in Vassili with irritation. “Have you come to ask her hand in marriage?”

“I know she’s yours,” said Serejka. “Have I ever bothered you? But now Iakov, your son, is all the time dancing around her, it’s different. Beat him, do you hear? If not, I will. You’ve got a strong fist if you are a fool.”

Vassili did not reply, but watched the boat as it turned about and made toward the beach again.

“You are right,” he said finally. “Iakov will hear from me.”

“I don’t like him. He smells too much of the village,” said Serejka.

In the distance, on the sea, was opening out the pink fan formed by the rays of the rising sun. The glowing orb was already emerging from the water. Amid the noise of the waves was heard from the boat the distant cry:

“Draw in!”

“Come, boys!” cried Serejka, to the other fishermen on the beach. “Let’s pull together.”

“When you see Iakov tell him to come here to-morrow,” said Vassili.

The boat grounded on the beach and the fishermen, jumping out, pulled their end of the net so that the two groups gradually met, the cork floats bobbing up and down on the water forming a perfect semi-circle.

* * * * *

Very late on the evening of the same day, when the fishermen had finished their dinner, Malva, tired and thoughtful, had seated herself on an old boat turned upside down and was watching the sea, already screened in twilight. In the distance a fire was burning, and Malva knew that Vassili had lighted it. Solitary and as if lost in the darkening shadows, the flame leaped high at times and then fell back as if broken. And Malva felt a certain sadness as she watched that red dot abandoned in the desert of ocean, and palpitating feebly among the indefatigable and incomprehensible murmur of the waves.

“What are you doing there?” asked Serejka’s voice behind her.

“What’s that to you?” she replied dryly, without stirring.

He lighted a cigarette, was silent a moment and then said in a friendly tone:

“What a funny woman you are! First you run away from everybody, and then you throw yourself round everyone’s neck.”

“Not round yours,” said Malva, carelessly.

“Not mine, perhaps, but round Iakov’s.”

“It makes you envious.”

“Hum! do you want me to speak frankly?”

“Speak.”

“Have yon broken off with Vassili?”

“I don’t know,” she replied, after a silence. “I am vexed with him.”

“Why?”

“He beat me.”

“Really? And you let him?”

Serejka could not understand it. He tried to catch a glimpse of Malva’s face, and made an ironical grimace.

“I need not have let him beat me,” she said. “I did not want to defend myself.”

“So you love the old grey cat as much as that?” grinned Serejka, puffing out a cloud of smoke. “I thought better of you than that.”

“I love none of you,” she said, again indifferent and wafting the smoke away with her hand.

“But if you don’t love him, why did you let him beat you?”

“Do you suppose I know? Leave me alone.”

“It’s funny,” said Serejka, shaking his head.

Both remained silent.

Night was falling. The shadows came down from the slow-moving clouds to the seas beneath. The waves murmured.

Vassili’s fire had gone out on the distant headland, but Malva continued to gaze in that direction.

* * * * *

The father and son were seated in the cabin facing each other, and drinking brandy which the youth had brought with him to conciliate the old man and so as not to be weary in his company.

Serejka had told Iakov that his father was angry with him on account of Malva, and that he had threatened to beat Malva until she was half dead. He also said that was the reason she resisted Iakov’s advances.