he speak of the question which was the chief and most important of all to him, which racked his thoughts every night: Why had Vera died?
Father Ignaty was unwilling to admit to himself that it was impossible now to solve this difficulty, and kept on thinking that it was still possible.
Every night—and they were all now for him sleepless—he would recall the moment when he and his wife had stood by Vera's bed at darkest midnight, and he had entreated her "Speak!" And when in his recollections he arrived at that word, even the rest of the scene presented itself to him as different to what it had really been. His closed eyes preserved in their darkness a vivid, unblurred picture of that night; they saw distinctly Vera lifting herself upon her bed and saying with a smile—— But what did she say? And that unuttered word of hers, which would solve the whole question, seemed so near, that if he were to stretch his ear and still the beating of his heart, then, then he would hear it—and at the same time it was so infinitely, so desperately far.
Father Ignaty would rise from his bed, and stretching forth his clasped hands in a gesture of supplication, entreat:
"Vera!"
And silence was the answer he received.
One evening Father Ignaty went to Olga Stepanovna's room, where he had not been for about
