Page:The Novels of Ivan Turgenev (volume X).djvu/82

Rh all, though the diary extends over two years. In Kazan she used to write down nothing at all. . . .' Aratov got up slowly from his chair and flung himself on his knees before Anna. She was simply petrified with wonder and dismay. 'Give me. . . give me that diary,' Aratov began with failing voice, and he stretched out both hands to Anna. 'Give it me. . . and the photograph. . . you are sure to have some other one, and the diary I will return. . . . But I want it, oh, I want it! . . .' In his imploring words, in his contorted features there was something so despairing that it looked positively like rage, like agony. . . And he was in agony, truly. He could not himself have foreseen that such pain could be felt by him, and in a frenzy he implored forgiveness, deliverance. ..

'Give it me,' he repeated. 'But. . . you. . . you were in love with my sister?' Anna said at last. Aratov was still on his knees. 'I only saw her twice. . . believe me ! . . . and if I had not been impelled by causes, which I can neither explain nor fully understand myself,. . . if there had not been some power over me, stronger than myself. . . I should