As it was, he felt himself carried away by a sort of enthusiasm in her cause, which would have led him to make even greater sacrifices than he had it in his power to offer.
So strong was this feeling that he felt called upon to make a sort of apology.
"I am sorry I cannot do more to help you," he said regretfully.

"It is very little I know, but then, you see I am not alone in the world, Vjera.
There are others to be thought of.

And besides, I have just paid the rent, and there are no savings left." "Dear Herr Schmidt," answered Vjera gratefully, "you are doing too much already--but I cannot help taking all you give me, though I can thank you for it with all my heart." They did not speak again during the next few minutes, until they reached the door of the house in which the Cossack lived.
"I shall only need a moment," he said, as he dived into the dark entrance.
He lost so little time, that it seemed to Vjera as though the echo of his steps had not died away upon the stairs before she heard his footfall again as he descended.

This time, however, there was a rattle and clatter of metal to be heard as well as his quick tread and the loud creaking of his coarse, stiff shoes.

He emerged into the street with the body of the samovar under one arm.