"I—I'm a-dy—dy—ing, that's what's the matter," gasped Nikita in a broken voice; his words seemed to come with difficulty. "Give what I have earned to my little one. Nay, to my old woman—but it is all one."
"What, are you frost-bitten?" asked Vasily Andreich.
"I feel—death is at hand. … Forgive!—for Christ's sake!" said Nikita in a tearful voice, continuing all along to move his hands about as if he were brushing a fly away from his face.
For half a moment Vasily Andreich stood there in silence without moving. Then, with the selfsame energy with which he used to clap his hands at the result of a successful bargaining, he took a step backwards, stripped back the sleeves of his pelisse, and proceeded with both hands to sweep the snow off Nikita and out of the sledge. After sweeping out the snow, Vasily Andreich swiftly ungirded himself, spread out his pelisse, and failing on Nikita, lay down upon him, covering him not only with his pelisse but with the whole of his body, now warm with working.
Stretching out the folds of the pelisse with his hands between the sides of the sledge and Nikita, and pressing it down at the sides with his knees, Vasily Andreich lay there right across the sledge, as low as he could, leaning his head against the front part of it; and now he heard neither the movements of the horse nor the whistling of the storm—Nikita's breathing was all he could hear. For a long time Nikita lay there motionless—presently he sighed deeply and began to move, evidently growing warmer.
71
