Their guests had once more left them, and life returned to its usual
regularity at the Popèlski manor; but the temper of the blind man had
undergone a decided change. It had become variable and easily agitated.
When at times his happy moments rose vividly before him, he grew more
cheerful, and his face brightened. But this did not last long; and in
the course of time even these cheerful moments were dimmed by the fear
that they were about to vanish, never to return. Thus his temper grew
very uneven; outbursts of demonstrative affection and of extreme nervous
excitement were often succeeded by days of secret gloom and melancholy.
And at last the mother’s worst fears were realized,—the fevered dreams of
childhood returned to the youth.
One morning Anna Michàilovna went into her son’s room. He was still
sleeping, but with a strange and restless sort of slumber. His eyes were
partly open, and seemed to peer from beneath his eyelids; his face was
pale, and wore an expression of alarm.
The mother paused as she cast a scrutinizing glance at her son, trying
to discover the cause of this mysterious terror, which seemed momently
to increase. But as she watched, the strained expression on the
sleeper’s face grew more intense. Suddenly she became aware of an almost
imperceptible movement above the bed. A sunbeam was shining on the wall
over the head of the sleeper, and as it glided downward its vibrations
grew more and more rapid. This brilliant ray of light was stealing its
way to the half-open eyes, and the nearer it came the greater grew the
restlessness of the sleeper. Anna Michàilovna remained motionless, as if
gazing at a nightmare; she could not turn her eyes from the golden beam,
which was drawing slowly but perceptibly nearer and nearer to her son’s
pale face, which had become almost rigid under the prolonged strain. The
yellow light had now begun to play over the hair and forehead of the
youth. Instinctively the mother leaned forward to shield him, but her
feet refused to move, as if she too were under some mesmeric influence.
Meanwhile the sleeper raised his eyelids, and the sunbeam sparkled on
his motionless eye-balls. His head, outlined against the pillow, was
turned toward the light; something between a smile and a sob quivered on
his lips, and again his face lapsed into its former rigidity.
At last, by a supreme effort of will, the mother overcame the torpor that
had crept over her, and going up to the bed, placed her hand on her son’s
head. He started and awoke.
“Is that you, mamma?” he asked.
“Yes, it is I.”
He rose on his elbow. It was as if his consciousness were still obscured
by a sort of haze. The next moment he said: “I was dreaming again. I
often dream now, but I can remember nothing.”