Under Western Eyes | Page 9

of teeth this man raised in the
land. That would be enough to get over any philosophical hopes. He
was uprooting the tender plant. He had to be stopped. He was a
dangerous man--a convinced man. Three more years of his work would
have put us back fifty years into bondage--and look at all the lives
wasted, at all the souls lost in that time."

His curt, self-confident voice suddenly lost its ring and it was in a dull
tone that he added, "Yes, brother, I have killed him. It's weary work."
Razumov had sunk into a chair. Every moment he expected a crowd of
policemen to rush in. There must have been thousands of them out
looking for that man walking up and down in his room. Haldin was
talking again in a restrained, steady voice. Now and then he flourished
an arm, slowly, without excitement.
He told Razumov how he had brooded for a year; how he had not slept
properly for weeks. He and "Another " had a warning of the Minister's
movements from "a certain person" late the evening before. He and that
"Another" prepared their "engines" and resolved to have no sleep till
"the deed" was done. They walked the streets under the falling snow
with the "engines" on them, exchanging not a word the livelong night.
When they happened to meet a police patrol they took each other by the
arm and pretended to be a couple of peasants on the spree. They reeled
and talked in drunken hoarse voices. Except for these strange outbreaks
they kept silence, moving on ceaselessly. Their plans had been
previously arranged. At daybreak they made their way to the spot
which they knew the sledge must pass. When it appeared in sight they
exchanged a muttered good-bye and separated. The "other" remained at
the corner, Haldin took up a position a little farther up the street. . . .
After throwing his "engine" he ran off and in a moment was overtaken
by the panic-struck people flying away from the spot after the second
explosion. They were wild with terror. He was jostled once or twice.
He slowed down for the rush to pass him and then turned to the left into
a narrow street. There he was alone.
He marvelled at this immediate escape. The work was done. He could
hardly believe it. He fought with an almost irresistible longing to lie
down on the pavement and sleep. But this sort of faintness--a drowsy
faintness--passed off quickly. He walked faster, making his way to one
of the poorer parts of the town in order to look up Ziemianitch.
This Ziemianitch, Razumov understood, was a sort of town-peasant
who had got on; owner of a small number of sledges and horses for hire.

Haldin paused in his narrative to exclaim--
"A bright spirit ! A hardy soul! The best driver in St. Petersburg. He
has a team of three horses there. . . . Ah! He's a fellow!"
This man had declared himself willing to take out safely, at any time,
one or two persons to the second or third railway station on one of the
southern lines. But there had been no time to warn him the night before.
His usual haunt seemed to be a low-class eating-house on the outskirts
of the town. When Haldin got there the man was not to be found. He
was not expected to turn up again till the evening. Haldin wandered
away restlessly.
He saw the gate of a woodyard open and went in to get out of the wind
which swept the bleak broad thoroughfare. The great rectangular piles
of cut wood loaded with snow resembled the huts of a village. At first
the watchman who discovered him crouching amongst them talked in a
friendly manner. He was a dried-up old man wearing two ragged army
coats one over the other; his wizened little face, tied up under the jaw
and over the ears in a dirty red handkerchief, looked comical. Presently
he grew sulky, and then all at once without rhyme or reason began to
shout furiously.
"Aren't you ever going to clear out of this, you loafer ? We know all
about factory hands of your sort. A big, strong, young chap! You aren't
even drunk. What do you want here? You don't frighten us. Take
yourself and your ugly eyes away."
Haldin stopped before the sitting Razumov. His supple figure, with the
white forehead above which the fair hair stood straight up, had an
aspect of lofty daring.
" He did not like my eyes," he said. "And so. . .here I am."
Razumov made an effort to speak calmly.
"But pardon me, Victor Victorovitch. We know each other so little. . . .
I don't see why