luck to you!' The boat darted swiftly along . . . but all of a sudden a hurricane came swooping down on it, not like the hurricane of the night before, soft and noiseless — no; a black, awful, howling hurricane! Everything was confusion. And in the midst of the whirling darkness Aratov saw Clara in a stage-dress; she was lifting a glass to her lips, listening to shouts of 'Bravo! bravo!' in the distance, and some coarse voice shouted in Aratov's ear: 'Ah! did you think it would all end in a farce? No; it 's a tragedy! a tragedy!'
Trembling all over, Aratov awoke. In the room it was not dark. ... A faint light streamed in from somewhere, and showed every thing in the gloom and stillness. Aratov did not ask himself whence this light came. . . . He felt one thing only: Clara was there, in that room . . . he felt her presence . . . he was again and for ever in her power!
The cry broke from his lips, 'Clara, are you here?'
'Yes!' sounded distinctly in the midst of the lighted, still room.
Aratov inaudibly repeated his question. . . .
'Yes!' he heard again.
'Then I want to see you!' he cried, and he jumped out of bed.
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