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Chapter 7

           NatáshaandNicholasgotintotheother.“Uncle”wrappedNatáshaupwarmlyandtookleaveofherwithquiteanewtenderness.Heaccompaniedthemonfootasfarasthebridgethatcouldnotbecrossed,sothattheyhadtogoroundbytheford,andhesenthuntsmentorideinfrontwithlanterns.

           “Good-by,dearniece,”hisvoicecalledoutofthedarkness—notthevoiceNatáshahadknownpreviously,buttheonethathadsungAs‘twasgrowingdarklastnight.

           Inthevillagethroughwhichtheypassedtherewereredlightsandacheerfulsmellofsmoke.

           “WhatadarlingUncleis!”saidNatásha,whentheyhadcomeoutontothehighroad.

           “Yes,”returnedNicholas.“You’renotcold?”

           “No.I’mquite,quiteallright.Ifeelsocomfortable!”answeredNatásha,almostperplexedbyherfeelings.Theyremainedsilentalongwhile.Thenightwasdarkanddamp.Theycouldnotseethehorses,butonlyheardthemsplashingthroughtheunseenmud.

           Whatwaspassinginthatreceptivechildlikesoulthatsoeagerlycaughtandassimilatedallthediverseimpressionsoflife?Howdidtheyallfindplaceinher?Butshewasveryhappy.AstheywerenearinghomeshesuddenlystruckuptheairofAs‘twasgrowingdarklastnight—thetuneofwhichshehadallthewaybeentryingtogetandhadatlastcaught.

           “Gotit?”saidNicholas.

           “Whatwereyouthinkingaboutjustnow,Nicholas?”inquiredNatásha.

           Theywerefondofaskingoneanotherthatquestion.

           “I?”saidNicholas,tryingtoremember

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