But he felt worst of all when a dangerous and suspicious guest would come when Yura had to go to bed.

But when he lay down in his bed a sense of easiness came over him and he felt as though all was ended; the lights went out, life stopped; everything slept.
In all such cases with suspicious men Yura felt vaguely but very strongly that he was replacing father in some way.

And that made him somewhat like a grown man--he was in a bad frame of mind, like a grown person, but, therefore, he was unusually calculating, wise and serious.
Of course, he said nothing about this to any one, for no one would understand him; but, by the manner in which he caressed father when he arrived and sat down on his knees patronisingly, one could see in the boy a man who fulfilled his duty to the end.

At times father could not understand him and would simply send him away to play or to sleep--Yura never felt offended and went away with a feeling of great satisfaction.
He did not feel the need of being understood; he even feared it.

At times he would not tell under any circumstances why he was crying; at times he would make believe that he was absent minded, that he heard nothing, that he was occupied with his own affairs, but he heard and understood.
And he had a terrible secret.