A wave seized hold of the boat and landed it high on the sand.

"Ended, ended, quite ended! We must draw the boat up farther, so that
it will be out of reach of the tide. They will come after it. And,
now, good-bye. The town is eight versts from here. You'll return to
town, eh?"

Tchelkache's face still beamed with a slily good-natured smile; he
seemed to be planning something pleasant for himself and a surprise for
Gavrilo. He put his hand in his pocket and rustled the bank-notes.

"No, I'm not going. . . I. . ."

Gavrilo stifled and choked. He was shaken by a storm of conflicting
desires, words and feelings. He burned as though on fire.

Tchelkache gazed at him with astonishment.

"What's the matter with you?" he asked.

"Nothing."

But Gavrilo's face grew red and then ashy pale. The lad moved his feet
restlessly as though he would have thrown himself upon Tchelkache, or
as though he were torn by Borne secret desire difficult to realize.

His suppressed excitement moved Tchelkache to some apprehension. He
wondered what form it would take in breaking out.