“Well, old man,” repeated the Governor, “tell us the truth: who has been digging under the wall?”
Aksyónof glanced at Makár Semyónitch, and said, “I cannot say, your honour. It is not God’s will that I should tell! Do what you like with me; I am in your hands.”
However much the Governor tried, Aksyónof would say no more, and so the matter had to be left.
That night, when Aksyónof was lying on his bed and just beginning to doze, someone came quietly and sat down on his bed. He peered through the darkness and recognized Makár.
“What more do you want of me?” asked Aksyónof. “Why have you come here?”
Makár Semyónitch was silent. So Aksyónof sat up and said, “What do you want? Go away, or I will call the guard!”
Makár Semyónitch bent close over Aksyónof, and whispered, “Iván Dmítritch, forgive me!”
“What for?” asked Aksyónof.
“It was I who killed the merchant and hid the knife among your things. I meant to kill you too, but I heard a noise outside; so I hid the knife in your bag and escaped out of the window.”
Aksyónof was silent, and did not know what to say. Makár Semyónitch slid off the bed-shelf and knelt upon the ground. “Iván Dmítritch,” said he, “forgive me! For the love of God, forgive me! I will confess that it was I who killed the merchant, and you will be released and can go to your home.”