RUDIN
semi-circular moon shone golden through the black network of the weeping birch-tree. The other trees stood like grim giants, with thousands of chinks looking like eyes, or fell into compact masses of darkness. Not a leaf was stirring; the topmost branches of the lilacs and acacias seemed to stretch upwards into the warm air, as though listening for something. The house was a dark mass now; patches of red light showed where the long windows were lighted up. It was a soft and peaceful evening, but under this peace was felt the secret breath of passion.
Rudin stood, his arms folded on his breast, and listened with strained attention. His heart beat violently, and involuntarily he held his breath. At last he caught the sound of light, hurrying footsteps, and Natalya came into the arbour.
Rudin rushed up to her, and took her hands. They were cold as ice.
‘Natalya Alexyevna!’ he began, in an agitated whisper, ‘I wanted to see you. . . . I could not wait till to-morrow. I must tell you what I did not suspect—what I did not realise even this morning. I love you!’
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