hope, 'I will be with him in trouble; I will deliver him, and honour him. With long life will I satisfy him, and shew him my salvation'?"—Was he satisfied? What had he gained? Failure, disappointment, sorrow marked every step of his way. Almost had he fainted utterly; almost had his feet stumbled on the dark mountains, while he looked for light, and behold, darkness and the shadow of death. Until at last, worn out and weary, "with shattered nerves and sinews all unstrung," and with heart broken by the ingratitude of those he loved and trusted, he "laid himself down in the grave and slept the sleep of death." "Could any death have been more sad?" cried Ivan in his agony. "Rather would it have seemed a fitting end for a life spent in the service of self and sin, than for one which was laid as an offering at the feet of Christ." Numb, blank despair stole over his heart, and a low half-broken moan arose from his lips—"No use in conflict, no hope of victory! The noblest, brightest lives only end in the worst bitterness of failure. God is great and good, and there is his heaven still to look for; but all things here below are a dark sad mystery. This world belongs to the powers of evil, and they prevail."
Fast bound in the trance of his sorrow, he did not see the red light of the northern morning steal slowly in. Nor did he hear an approaching footstep, nor a gentle knock at the door; which, however, was not fastened on the inside, so Clémence opened it softly, and came towards him. Bending down, she pressed upon his white lips the Easter salutation, saying, "Christohs voskress" (Christ is risen).
"Voyst venno voskress" (He is risen indeed), Ivan answered mechanically, after the beautiful custom of the Eastern Church.
"My husband," she said softly, laying her hand on his arm, "dost thou believe it?"
He looked up: her face too was pale, and bore the traces of many tears. "I know it to be true," he said.
