"Save him, save him, save him!" she whispered to herself.
When she looked up, at last, Schmidt was by her side. There was something
oddly respectful in his attitude and manner as he stood there awaiting her
pleasure, ready to be guided by her whithersoever she pleased. It seemed
to him that on this evening he had begun to see Vjera in a new light, and
that she was by no means the poor, insignificant little shell-maker he had
always supposed her to be. It seemed to him that she was transformed into
a woman, and into a woman of strong affections and brave heart. And yet he
knew every outline of her plain face, and had known every change of her
expression for years, since she had first come to the shop, a mere girl
not yet thirteen years of age. Nor had it been from lack of observation
that he had misunderstood her, for like most men born and bred in the
wilderness, he watched faces and tried to read them. The change had taken
place in Vjera herself and it must be due, he thought, to her love for the
poor madman. He smiled to himself in the dark, scarcely understanding why.
It was strange to him perhaps that madness on the one side should bring
into life such a world of love on the other.
Vjera turned towards him and once more laid her hand upon his arm.
"Thank you," she said. "I could not have slept if I had not come here
first, and it was very good of you. I will go home, but do not come with
me--you must be tired."
"I am never tired," he answered, and they began to walk away in the
direction whence they had come.
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