“Good-by, Artyom.”

“Good-by, brother.”

And without rising, Artyom stretched out his large hand, and squeezed the skinny fingers of the Jew.

“Good-by, don’t feel hurt.”

“I won’t,” sighed the Jew, dejectedly.

“Good, then! it will be much better so: when you have time to think it over, you will see that I am right. You are not my equal, and you can be no companion to me. Am I to live only for you? It won’t do!”

“Good-by.”

“Get along.”

Cain went off, walking beside the river with stooping shoulders and bent head.

Artyom looked after him for a few seconds, and then, resuming his former attitude, he lay face upwards, while the sky above him grew dark with approaching night.

Curious sounds came and went in the still air. There was the regular splash of the river breaking against the shore.

Cain turned back, went up to the massive figure stretched upon the sand, and standing beside him, said in a low, deferential voice:

“Perhaps you have changed your mind?”

But Artyom remained silent.

“Artyom,” Cain called again, and waited patiently for a reply.

“Artyom, perhaps you only said all that to me in jest?” said Cain, again, in a trembling voice. “Artyom, remember that night—when I came and looked after you. No one came but me.”

The only answer was a faint snore.

Cain remained for a long time standing over the athlete, staring at his vapidly handsome face, softened by sleep. The powerful chest rose and fell at regular intervals, and the black mustache, as it was parted by his breath, displayed the man’s strong shining teeth. He seemed to be smiling.

With a profound sigh, and bending his head yet lower, the Jew once more turned and began walking along the river. He advanced cautiously; life was now full of terror for him, and he trembled; where the path was lit by the moon he walked more slowly, gliding swiftly along when he came to the darker stretches.

He was like a mouse, like a small, cowardly animal, returning to its hole, amidst many dangers threatening him on all sides. Night had already fallen, and the shore lay deserted.

1898.