His head sank wearily forward, his shoulders rounded themselves as though under a burden, his feet dragged a little as he tried to walk on again, and he leaned heavily on the young girl's arm.
"What is it ?" she asked.

"Tell me--perhaps I can help you--I mean--I beg your pardon," she added, humbly, "perhaps it would help you to speak of it.

That sometimes makes things seem clearer just when they have been most confused." "Perhaps so, Vjera, perhaps so.

You are a very good girl, and you came just in time.

I love you, Vjera--do not forget that I love you." His voice was by turns sharp and suddenly low and monotonous, like that of a man talking in sleep.