“But I do not understand. What thing?”

“The whole business—you, and everything. I do not wish to know you any longer, simply because—it doesn’t do for me.”

Cain shrank back as if someone had struck him.

“And if anyone harms you, do not come and complain to me. I cannot help you any longer. You must not look upon me in future as your protector. Do you understand? I can’t do it.”

Cain sat silent as death.

Having thus spoken, Artyom gave a sigh of relief; then he continued to speak more clearly and connectedly:

“You took pity on me then; I can pay you for that. How much do you want? Tell me, and you will get it. But I can’t be sorry for you. It isn’t in me. I have tried all along to believe that I pitied you, but it was just pretense. I said to myself: ‘I am sorry for him,’ but it was a lie. There is no feeling of pity in me.”

“Is it because I am a Jew?” Cain asked him gently. Artyom looked sideways at him, and answered simply, with one of those speeches which come direct from the heart:

“What’s a Jew? Why, we are all Jews in the Lord’s sight.”

“Then why is it?” asked Cain quietly.

“Because I can’t. Understand? I have no pity for you—or for anyone. Try to understand this. I wouldn’t have said this to another. I would just have knocked him on the noodle.…But I am saying it to you.…”

“ ‘Who will rise up to defend me from the wicked ones? Who will deliver me from mine enemies?’ ” asked the Jew, in a sad, low voice, quoting the Psalmist’s words.

“I…can’t,” Artyom replied, shaking his head. “It isn’t because they laugh. I don’t care a rap, let them laugh.…But I’m not sorry for you.…But in return for what you did for me, I should like to give you some money.”

And Cain, bent double in anguish, cried out in imploring accents:

“Oh! Almighty God! Oh! Eternal One! God of vengeance! Arise, and let Thy light go forth, O Judge of the earth!”

The summer evening was warm and peaceful. The soft, sad rays of the setting sun were reflected in the river; the shadow from the gorge fell over Artyom and Cain.

“Think for a moment,” began Artyom again, in a melancholy and persuasive voice, “what a task I have before me. You don’t understand this! But I—I must revenge myself. They beat me up without mercy—you remember?”

He grew agitated and ground his teeth together; then he lay back on the sand, his feet stretched out towards the water, his hands clasped behind his head.

“I have found out the names of all of them.”

“All of them?” asked Cain, in a dejected voice.

“All. Now I am going to begin to settle accounts with them. And you are in my way.”

“How can I be in your way?” exclaimed the Jew.