Five minutes later he raised his head with a strange smile.
That was a strange thought.
"Perhaps it really would be better in Siberia," he thought suddenly.
He could not have said how long he sat there with vague thoughts surging through his mind.
All at once the door opened and Dounia came in.
At first she stood still and looked at him from the doorway, just as he had done at Sonia; then she came in and sat down in the same place as yesterday, on the chair facing him.
He looked silently and almost vacantly at her.
"Don't be angry, brother; I've only come for one minute," said Dounia.
Her face looked thoughtful but not stern.
Her eyes were bright and soft.
He saw that she too had come to him with love.
"Brother, now I know all, _all_.
Dmitri Prokofitch has explained and told me everything.
They are worrying and persecuting you through a stupid and contemptible suspicion....
Dmitri Prokofitch told me that there is no danger, and that you are wrong in looking upon it with such horror.
I don't think so, and I fully understand how indignant you must be, and that that indignation may have a permanent effect on you.
That's what I am afraid of.
As for your cutting yourself off from us, I don't judge you, I don't venture to judge you, and forgive me for having blamed you for it.
I feel that I too, if I had so great a trouble, should keep away from everyone.
I shall tell mother nothing _of this_, but I shall talk about you continually and shall tell her from you that you will come very soon.
Don't worry about her; _I_ will set her mind at rest; but don't you try her too much--come once at least; remember that she is your mother.
And now I have come simply to say" (Dounia began to get up) "that if you should need me or should need... all my life or anything... call me, and I'll come.
Good-bye!"
She turned abruptly and went towards the door.
"Dounia!" Raskolnikov stopped her and went towards her. "That Razumihin, Dmitri Prokofitch, is a very good fellow."
Dounia flushed slightly.
"Well?" she asked, waiting a moment.
"He is competent, hardworking, honest and capable of real love....
Good-bye, Dounia."
Dounia flushed crimson, then suddenly she took alarm.
"But what does it mean, brother? Are we really parting for ever that you... give me such a parting message?"
"Never mind.... Good-bye."
He turned away, and walked to the window.
She stood a moment, looked at him uneasily, and went out troubled.
No, he was not cold to her.
There was an instant (the very last one) when he had longed to take her in his arms and _say good-bye_ to her, and even _to tell_ her, but he had not dared even to touch her hand.
"Afterwards she may shudder when she remembers that I embraced her, and will feel that I stole her kiss."
"And would _she_ stand that test?" he went on a few minutes later to himself.
"No, she wouldn't; girls like that can't stand things!
They never do."
And he thought of Sonia.
There was a breath of fresh air from the window.
The daylight was fading.
He took up his cap and went out.
He could not, of course, and would not consider how ill he was.
But all this continual anxiety and agony of mind could not but affect him.
And if he were not lying in high fever it was perhaps just because this continual inner strain helped to keep him on his legs and in possession of his faculties. But this artificial excitement could not last long.
He wandered aimlessly.
The sun was setting.
A special form of misery had begun to oppress him of late.