| PART 8
Chapter 17
 The old prince and Sergey Ivanovitch got into the trap and drove
 off; the rest of the party hastened homewards on foot. But the storm-clouds, turning white and then black, moved down so
 quickly that they had to quicken their pace to get home before
 the rain.  The foremost clouds, lowering and black as soot-laden
 smoke, rushed with extraordinary swiftness over the sky.  They
 were still two hundred paces from home and a gust of wind had
 already blown up, and every second the downpour might be looked
 for. The children ran ahead with frightened and gleeful shrieks. 
 Darya Alexandrovna, struggling painfully with her skirts that
 clung round her legs, was not walking, but running, her eyes
 fixed on the children.  The men of the party, holding their hats
 on, strode with long steps beside her.  They were just at the
 steps when a big drop fell splashing on the edge of the iron
 guttering.  The children and their elders after them ran into the
 shelter of the house, talking merrily. "Katerina Alexandrovna?" Levin asked of Agafea Mihalovna, who met
 them with kerchiefs and rugs in the hall. "We thought she was with you," she said. "And Mitya?" "In the copse, he must be, and the nurse with him." Levin snatched up the rugs and ran towards the copse. In that brief interval of time the storm clouds had moved on,
 covering the sun so completely that it was dark as an eclipse.
 Stubbornly, as though insisting on its rights, the wind stopped
 Levin, and tearing the leaves and flowers off the lime trees and
 stripping the white birch branches into strange unseemly
 nakedness, it twisted everything on one side--acacias, flowers,
 burdocks, long grass, and tall tree-tops.  The peasant girls
 working in the garden ran shrieking into shelter in the servants'
 quarters.  The streaming rain had already flung its white veil
 over all the distant forest and half the fields close by, and was
 rapidly swooping down upon the copse.  The wet of the rain
 spurting up in tiny drops could be smelt in the air. |