It was nearly five o’clock when he was trying to find his direction in the thicket. Although he was no stranger there he seemed not to be able to find what he sought; he looked from side to side where the bushes grew more thickly, certain that he must be in the neighbourhood of the arbour. He stood still and looked impatiently at his watch. It was nearly five o’clock, and neither the arbour nor Mark were visible.
Suddenly he heard a rustle in the distance, and among the young pines a figure appeared and disappeared alternately. Mark was approaching, and reached the place where Tushin was standing. They looked at one another a full minute when they met.
“Where is the arbour?” said Mark at last.
“I don’t exactly know in which direction....”
“In which direction? We are standing on the spot where it was still standing yesterday morning.”
The arbour had vanished to allow of the literal carrying out of Tatiana Markovna’s promise that Mark should not wait for Vera in the arbour. An hour after her conversation with Vera she had descended the precipice, accompanied by Savili and five peasants with axes, and within two hours the arbour had been carried away, the peasant women and children helping to remove beams and boards. Next day the site of the arbour was levelled, covered with turf, and planted with young fir trees. “If I had had the arbour removed before,” thought Tatiana Markovna regretfully, “the rascal would have noticed it, and would not have written her the letters.”
The situation was clear enough to the “rascal” now. “That is the old lady’s handiwork,” he thought, when he saw the young fir trees. “Her Vera, like a well-bred young woman, has told her the whole story.” He nodded to Tushin, and was turning away, when he saw his rival’s eyes were fixed on him.
“Are you out for a stroll?” said Mark. “Why do you look at me in that extraordinary fashion? I suppose you are visiting at Malinovka.”
Tushin replied drily and politely that he was a visitor at the house, and had come down especially to see Mark.
“To see me?” asked Mark quickly with a look of inquiry. Has he heard too? he wondered. He remembered that Tushin admired Vera and wondered whether the “Forest Othello” was meditating tragedy and murder on the green.