II + 

Towards noon it had cleared up a little, but only as if a rushlight had been kindled and whisked about among the shadows; what brightness there was vanished soon, and it grew dark again, and looked as if the snow were gathering and about to fall once more. + 

In Antek’s hut it was extremely murky and cold and cheerless. The children played upon the bed, and prattled in whispers to each other. Hanka was so uneasy, she knew not what to do. She went fidgeting about the place, or stood outside with burning eyes, gazing over the snow. But neither on the road nor in the fields did any living creature meet her sight; only a few sledges were just visible, crawling away from the tavern to vanish both from the eye and the ear, lost in the abyss of limitless white. + 

She sighed. If there were but a beggar passing by, that she might have someone to speak to! + 

She set to calling together the fowls that had dispersed, seeking to roost on the cherry-trees, and made them return to their usual roosting-place; but, on going in, had some words with Veronka. What did it mean? The woman had set down in the passage a pail of hogwash for her swine, which the dirty beasts had splashed about, and there was a large pool right in front of Hanka’s door! + 

Without going in, she cried through the closed door: “You who hold yourself such a good housewife, see to your pigs, or tell your children to do so. I will not dirty myself with mud for your sake!” + 

“Oh, she has sold her cow, and so she is going to raise her voice here, is she? She cannot bear mud now, the grand lady! Yet her dwelling is a pigsty!” + 

“Never you mind about my lodgings or my cow!” + 

“Then never you mind about my pigs; do you hear?” + 

Hanka slammed the door: what could she reply to such a fury? One word said to her was sure to bring more than twenty in return.⁠—She bolted the door, took out the money, and began to make up her accounts with infinite trouble, blundering again and again. She was still upset; full of resentment against Veronka, of disquietude about Antek. Often, too, she fancied she could hear Krasula lowing; and then at times memories of her girlhood at home came back to her. + 

“True it is, though, too true, that our dwelling is like a pigsty!” she muttered, looking about the room.⁠—But there!⁠ ⁠… There they had a floor, and the walls were whitewashed, and all was warm and clean, and everything was in abundance.⁠ ⁠… And the work there, was it much?⁠ ⁠… Yuzka washed the things after dinner; Yagna spun, or looked out of the bright frostless windows.⁠ ⁠… What did she need, that she had not?⁠ ⁠… All the corals of Boryna’s deceased wives were hers now; and petticoats, and kerchiefs, and linen in plenty. She had not to trouble, not to earn anything, and could eat her fill of fat things! And Staho had said, moreover, that Yagustynka did all the work for her; that she lay in bed till broad daylight, and had tea for breakfast, because, forsooth, “potatoes did not agree with her!”⁠ ⁠… And the old man did nothing but make love and fondle that woman as if she were a little child.⁠ ⁠… + 

The thought roused a storm of rage in her; she started up from the chest she sat on and shook her fist. + 

“Oh, the spoiler, the harpy, the wanton, the trull!” She screamed so loud that old Bylitsa, dozing close to the fireplace, started up in alarm. + 

She was calm in an instant. “Father, pray cover the potatoes with straw, and then heap the mound with snow: there is going to be a hard frost,” she said, and returned to her accounts. + 

But somehow the old man’s work did not get on. There was much snow, and he had little strength⁠—And then, he felt uneasy: he had held the rope, and two zloty were for him: should he have them? They had been lying there on the table, glittering and almost new, as he well remembered. + 

“Perhaps they will give them to me,” he thought. “To whom else do they belong? My arms are stiff with holding the rope, Krasula pulled so hard; I held on nevertheless.⁠ ⁠… And how I praised her to the cattle-dealers! Oh, I made them hear me!⁠ ⁠… Peter, the eldest boy⁠—I should buy him a mouth-organ at the very first local feast.⁠ ⁠… And the younger one too should get something.⁠ ⁠… And Veronka’s little ones too, naughty troublesome brats though they are.⁠ ⁠… And for myself, some snuff⁠—strong⁠—such as stirs one’s inwards! Staho’s snuff is good for little, does not even make me sneeze.” + 

But these musings affected his work so much that when Hanka came round in an hour’s time, the straw was only just covered with snow. + 

“Why, you eat enough for a man, and work less than a child!” she said. + 

“Ah, Hanka, I am working hard, but I just stopped a moment to breathe: I shall finish instantly⁠—instantly!” he stammered, greatly abashed. + 

“The twilight is coming down from the forest, the frost is growing harder, and the pit looks as if swine had been rooting there. Go ye into the hut and tend the babes.” + 

She herself set to work, and with such energy that the pit was very soon covered up and splendidly heaped over with snow. + 

But when she had done, it was already dusk; the dwelling had become colder; the damp clay floor, stiff with the frost, clattered beneath her clogs; and once more the frost painted its patterns on the panes. The children, too, whimpered low; but she did nothing to quiet them, for she was in haste. She had to cut straw for the heifer, and feed the pigs, that came squealing and nuzzling against the door, and give water to the geese. Besides, she must go over the accounts again⁠—find how much she was to pay, and to whom. At last all was done, and she prepared to go out. + 

“Father, you will light the fire, and take care of the babes.⁠—Should Antek come back, there is cabbage for him in the saucepan on the hob.” + 

“Yes, yes, Hanka, I shall see to everything.⁠—The cabbage is on the hob; yes, I shall see, I shall see to it.” + 

“Ah!⁠—About the rope-money, I have taken it. You do not want it, surely? You have food to eat; you have clothing.⁠ ⁠… What more do you need?” + 

“Yes, Hanka, yes; I have everything⁠—everything,” he replied in a low voice, turning quickly round to the children, lest she should see his tears fall. + 

As she went out, the cold gripped her. A bluish darkness was spreading on every side, dry and peculiarly transparent. The sky was clear as crystal, with unclouded horizon, and a few stars already twinkling on high. + 

On her way, Hanka mused. She thought she would try to find some sort of work that Antek could do, and not let him go away.⁠—But now his last utterance came back to her, and made her faint with alarm. For never in her life could she leave her village to live elsewhere; no, never could she abide among strange folk! + 

She gazed on the road, the houses scattered along it, the orchards scarce seen above the snow, and the immense fields all around, now growing grey in the twilight. The silent ice-cold evening fell faster and faster: star after star came out, as if someone up there was sowing them by handfuls; and upon the glimmering earth, glimmering in snowy-white expanses, the cabin lights began to shine, smoke shed its scent through the air, men went slowly about the ways, and voices seemed skimming very low along the ground. + 

“All this has grown into me, is part of me; and I will not stray about the world like a wandering wind. Oh, no!” she said with energy to herself, walking now somewhat slower; for from time to time she met with caked snow that broke and let her in up to the knees. + 

“This is the world which our Lord has given me⁠—mine! Here will I live and here will I die.⁠—If we can but hold out till the spring!⁠ ⁠… Say that Antek refuses to do any work. Well, I shall not be forced to beg. I will take up spinning⁠—or weaving⁠—or anything I can turn my hand to, and not let misery conquer me. Veronka, I know, earns enough by her weaving to put money by.” + 

Such were her thoughts as she entered the tavern, where Yankel was as usual nodding over a book. He paid no attention to her till she set the money before him; then he smiled in friendly wise, helped her to reckon the sum right, and even offered her some vodka. But he said no word to her either of Antek’s debt to him or of the man himself, until she was about to depart; when he asked her what her husband was doing. + 

She replied that he was seeking work. + 

“He would be useful in the village. They are putting up a sawmill here, and I need someone experienced in carting timber.” + 

“My husband would never go into tavern service.” + 

“Is he such a great man as that? Then let him slumber and sleep!⁠—But ye have some geese: if ye will, fatten them a little, and I will purchase them when yuletide comes.” + 

“I cannot sell any; I have but enough for breeding.” + 

“Then buy some goslings for the spring; as soon as they are well fed up, I’ll take them. And if you care, you may have all on credit here, and you will pay me in geese.⁠—A running account.⁠ ⁠…” + 

“No, I shall not sell any geese.” + 

“Oh, but you will, when the money from your cow is gone⁠ ⁠… and sell them cheap, too!” + 

“Scurvy one! you’ll not live to see the day!” was her mental comment as she went out. + 

The air was so frosty now, it made the nostrils tingle. The heavens were scintillating, and a bleak piercing blast blew from the woods. Nevertheless, she kept her course right in the middle of the road, gazing with interest at all the cabins. Vahnik’s, next the church, had all the candles lit; from Ploshka’s enclosure came a hum of voices and the squealing of swine; at the priest’s, the windows shone bright, and several horses pawed the ground impatiently in front of his veranda; at the Klembas’, too, opposite the priest’s, lights were gleaming, and you could tell, by the crackling of the crunched snow, that someone was going to the byre. Further, in front of the church, where the village forked out and seemed stretching forth two arms that clasped the pond in their embrace, but little met the eye beyond a few lights on a dusky white background, in which dogs were heard to bark. + 

Heaving a sigh as she glanced over at her father-in-law’s cabin, she turned off from before the church to pass between two long fences that separated Klemba’s orchard from the priest’s garden, and together formed a road leading to the organist’s. This was little trodden and so much overshadowed with underwood on either side, that ever and anon showers of snow fell on her from the trees she brushed against. + 

The dwelling was situated in the background of the priest’s courtyard, and had no other separate cartway. + 

Hanka was presently aware of an outcry and the sound of sobbing, and beheld outside the entrance a black box and various articles scattered on the snow⁠—a featherbed, some wearing-apparel, and so forth.⁠ ⁠… Magda, the housemaid at the organist’s, stood by the wall, crying bitterly and screaming aloud. + 

“They have turned me out! They have driven me forth! Like a dog! Out into the world, the wide, wide world! Whither shall I go now⁠—bereft of all⁠—oh, whither?” + 

“You swine, you swine, scream not thus at me!” cried a voice from the open entrance-passage; “or I’ll take a stick, and make you hold your peace pretty quickly. Begone this instant, and betake you to your Franek, you jade!⁠—Ah, how are you, Hanka?⁠ ⁠… My dear, this business you see was to be expected since autumn. And I pleaded with that wench, I talked to her, implored, watched over her; but who can guard a wanton? When we all were sleeping, out she would go a-walking⁠ ⁠… and has walked so well that now she has a bastard for her pains!⁠—How often did I say: ‘Magda, take care; consider: the man will never marry you’⁠ ⁠… and she would declare to my face that she had naught to do with him! And when I saw the creature changing form and swelling like leavened dough, I said to her: ‘Go to some other hamlet, hide yourself, ere people see your shame.’ Did she listen? No.⁠—And today, while milking in the byre, she was taken with great pangs and upset the milking-pail; and my girl Franka ran to me in a fright, crying out that something had befallen Magda. Good Lord! such a disgrace, and in my house!⁠—Take yourself off now, or I’ll have you cast out on to the road!” she cried again, coming out in front of the house. + 

Magda left the cabin wall and, with many a sob and moan, set to making all her things into a bundle. + 

“Do come in now; it is cold.⁠—But you! leave no trace behind you!” shouted the dame, as she went in. + 

She led Hanka in through a long passage. + 

There was a very large low room, lit by a big fire that burned bright on an open hearth. Red as boiled crayfish, the organist, in his shirtsleeves rolled up to the elbows, sat baking altar-breads at the fire. Every now and then he dipped a ladle into a dish of thin half-liquid paste, and poured the contents into a cast-iron mould, which he then closed, squeezing it till the hot paste hissed. He then placed it on the fire, supporting it on an upright brick set there, and, opening and turning it round, took out the newly baked bread, which he cast upon a low bench just by. Here sat a little boy, trimming the edges of each of the oblong loaves with scissors. + 

Hanka greeted them all, and kissed the hand of the organist’s wife. + 

“Sit down and warm yourself.⁠—And now, what news?” + 

Unable to find at once the words she wanted, and feeling ashamed, she gave a timid side-glance into the other room, where, opposite the door, and on a long table, stood a white pile of altar-breads, pressed down with a board. A couple of girls were making them into packets, each tied with a paper wrapper for distribution. From the unseen portion of the room came the monotonous tinklings of a harpsichord twangling under some unknown performer’s fingers⁠—and suddenly breaking off with a jarring discord that gave Hanka gooseflesh and made the organist exclaim: + 

“There, there⁠—quite wrong: you’ve ‘eaten a fox!’⁠—Repeat from ‘Laudamus pueri.’ ” + 

“Are you making these for Christmas already?” she asked, feeling it would be discourteous to sit silent. + 

“We are. The parish is big and straggling; and, as all the altar-breads have to be taken round before Christmas, we must begin betimes.” + 

“Are they of pure wheat?” + 

“Pray taste them.” + 

She gave her one that was still hot from the mould. + 

“I scarcely dare to eat of it.” She took it with a corner of her apron, holding it up to the light with awed and respectful scrutiny. + 

“Why, what curious designs are stamped upon it!” + 

“On that first circle, to the right, you see our Blessed Lady, St. John, and our Lord. On the other there is the manger, the rack, the cattle, the Child on its couch of hay, St. Joseph, and again our Lady; and here are the Three Wise Men, kneeling.” Such were the explanations of the organist’s wife. + 

“Yes, yes; I see.⁠—Oh, how wonderfully these designs are made!” + 

She wrapped the altar-bread in a kerchief and put it in her bosom.⁠—A peasant had entered and told the organist something; at which he cried: + 

“Michael! They have come for a christening: take the key and go to the church. His Reverence knows and will come, but Ambrose must stay to serve the company.” + 

The harpsichord became mute, and a tall pale lad passed out of the room. + 

“My brother’s orphan boy. Practises to learn playing with my husband, who teaches him gratis. We must make a sacrifice, and do something for our own flesh and blood.” + 

Little by little, Hanka became more communicative, and at last brought out the story of her sufferings and troubles, though piecemeal and with much hesitation. It was the first time she had been able to speak openly of all that had passed. + 

They listened and talked to her with sympathy; and though they took good care not to mention Boryna’s name, they showed her so much sincere compassion that it made her weep very copiously. Now the organist’s wife, being a clever intelligent woman, understood what Hanka wanted, and came out the first with a proposal. + 

“Listen: you may perhaps have a little spare time.⁠—Would you spin some wool for me? I thought I would get it done by Pakulina, but ’tis better you should do it.” + 

“May God reward you! I was indeed in want of work, but durst not ask for it.” + 

“Well, well, no thanks: folk ought to help their neighbours. The wool is carded, and weighs about a hundred pounds.” + 

“Yes, I shall spin it, and am well able. Why, when with my parents, I not only spun thread but wove cloth and dyed it. We never had to buy garments.” + 

“Look at it: how soft it is! and how dry!” + 

“ ’Tis beautiful wool. From the Manor sheep, belike.” + 

“Ah, and should you happen to need flour or groats or peas, pray let me know; you shall have all you want, and I will settle when I pay you.” + 

She then took her into a storeroom full of sacks and barrels of corn, and flitches of bacon hanging from the walls. The rafters bore long skeins of spun yarn in clusters, and on the floor thick rolls of linen cloth lay piled up. As to the strings of dried mushrooms, the cheeses, the jars crammed with various good things, the shelves groaning under huge round loaves, and the other articles of household consumption, who could tell them all? + 

“You shall have the smoothest yarn that hands can make,” said Hanka. “And thanks once more for all your kindness. But I fear I shall be unable to carry all that wool by myself.” + 

“It will be taken over to you.” + 

“That is well, for I have still to go about the village.” + 

She again thanked her, but now with something less of warmth and expansiveness: envy was gnawing at her heart. + 

“ ’Tis our people gives them all they have, carries it to them, and produces the same⁠ ⁠… and their storerooms overflow by our gifts! Besides, who knows how much money they have out at high interest? Ah, ‘Who has sheep to shear, he shall have good cheer.’⁠ ⁠… It were harder work for them to produce all this.⁠—Well, well!” So she thought on her exit from the house, whence Magda had now disappeared with all her things; and as it was getting late, Hanka quickened her pace. + 

Where⁠—and of whom⁠—could she inquire about work for Antek? + 

When on her father-in-law’s farm, she had found everybody friendly; people were constantly coming to visit her, either to get some service done or to exchange kind looks and words. And now there she was, standing out in the cold, and knowing not to whom she could go! + 

She stopped in front of Klemba’s, and of Simon’s too: but she was loath to enter, for now she recollected how Antek had told her not to make any calls. “People can do nothing, and will give no assistance⁠—only pity; and that they would give just as well to a dead dog!” he had said. + 

“How true, oh, how true he spoke!” she said, remembering the organist and his wife. + 

Oh, had she but been a man! She would have set to work at once, and put everything to rights. She would not then have had to whine and lay bare her wounds that her neighbours might pity her! + 

She experienced in her soul a devouring, a ravenous craving for work, and such a concentration of force as stiffened her frame and gave firmness and speed to her steps. She also felt a longing to pass near her father-in-law’s cabin, were it but to look at the premises from without, and satisfy the desire of her eyes! But in front of the church door she turned away to follow a narrow path that led over the frozen pond to the mill; and she walked fast, not looking to right or left⁠—careful only not to slip on the ice, determined to pass swiftly by and see nothing, lest her heart should be wounded again by the remembrance of the past. But she failed. Somehow, just opposite Boryna’s, she stopped suddenly, and could not take her eyes away from the lights that glimmered in the windows. + 

“It is ours⁠—ours!⁠ ⁠… How can we possibly go from here?⁠ ⁠… The blacksmith would seize it instantly. No! I do not budge hence. Here shall I stay, like a watchdog, whether Antek stays or not!⁠ ⁠… His father is not immortal; and other changes too may come about.⁠ ⁠… I will not see my children despoiled, nor will I go from the village.” These thoughts passed through her mind, as she gazed upon that snow-covered orchard, and the faint outlines of buildings beyond: the silvered roofs, the dark-tinted walls, and⁠—in the background, behind a shed⁠—the sharp cone of a haystack. + 

The night was still, cold, black-hue, oversprinkled with a sand of stars, it seemed, and wrapping the snowy earth in silvery folds. The trees stood drooping under the weight of snow that bent them down, as if slumbering incomprehensibly in the stillness which flooded the world: white-sheeted phantoms, vapoury, yet rigid. Every voice had died away; only something⁠—was it the breathing of those entranced inanimate trees? was it a murmur from the quivering stars?⁠—something there was that trembled in the air. And there stood Hanka, forgetful of the minutes which went by, forgetful of the sharp intolerable cold, her eyes staring on that homestead, greedily drinking the sight of it, taking it all into her heart, absorbing it with all the strength of her insatiable dreams. + 

A sudden crackling in the snow woke her up: someone was coming by the same path across the pond, and in a little she looked upon Nastka. + 

“What, you, Hanka?” + 

“Why such amazement? Am I dead, and is it my ghost you see?” + 

“What fancy has taken hold of your I had not seen you for a long time, and was surprised.⁠—Which way are you going?” + 

“To the mill.” + 

“My way too; I am taking Matthew his supper.” + 

“Is it a miller’s trade he is learning there now?” + 

“A miller’s? No, indeed! They are building a sawmill here in such great haste that they are now working at it even at night.” + 

They walked on together, Nastka prattling away, but careful to say no word about Boryna; and Hanka, though she would have been glad to hear, feeling that she could not possibly ask. + 

“Does the miller pay well?” + 

“Matthew gets five zloty fifteen groschen.” + 

“So much as that?” + 

“No great wonder, since he is at the head of everything.” + 

Hanka said no more till, passing in front of the smithy, whence a ruddy light flowed through the unpaned window, crimsoning the snow, she muttered: + 

“That Judas! Never in want of work to do!” + 

“He has engaged an assistant, and is himself continually travelling. Also he is with the Jews in that forest business, and occupied with them in deceiving the people.” + 

“Do they cut down the clearing yet?” + 

“Are you dwelling in the woods, that you do not know?” + 

“Not so; but I am not greedy for village news.” + 

“Well, let me tell you, they are cutting down a bit of the forest that was already bought.” + 

“Of course; our folk would never permit them to fell the trees on our clearing.” + 

“Even for that, who would interfere? The Voyt holds with the Manor folk, and the Soltys too, and all the wealthier men.” + 

“True. Who is it can get the better of a rich man? or who can overcome him?⁠—Well, Nastka, pray look in at our home.” + 

“Farewell.⁠—Yes, I shall bring distaff and spindle one of these days.” + 

They separated in front of the miller’s dwelling, and Nastka went on to the mill, down below, while Hanka passed through the yard into the kitchen. She had great trouble in getting there; a number of dogs swarmed round her, barking and driving her to the wall. Eva came to protect her and usher her in; and just then the miller’s wife arrived, saying: + 

“If you have business with my husband, he is in the mill.” + 

She met him coming back to his house; he took her to the family room, where she immediately paid all she owed for meal and groats. + 

“You are living on your cow, hey?” he said, throwing the money into a drawer. + 

“What would you have?” she replied, offended. “One cannot live on stones.” + 

“Your goodman is a sluggard, let me tell you.” + 

“So you say. But what work is he to do? where? with whom? Tell me.” + 

“Are no threshers needed here?” + 

“Of course such work is not to his taste; he was never yet a common farm-labourer.” + 

“I am sorry for the man. He’s headstrong, without respect for his father, and fierce as a wolf; all the same, I am sorry.” + 

“I⁠—I have heard⁠—that you, Sir Miller, have work to be done; perhaps you might employ Antek.⁠ ⁠… I beseech you⁠ ⁠…” Here she fell a-weeping and imploring him very earnestly. + 

“Let him come.⁠—Mind, I do not ask him. Work there is, but hard work. To hew the trees into logs⁠—ready to be sawn.” + 

“That he can do: few men in the village as well.” + 

“That’s why I say, Let him come.⁠—But you, my woman, you do not look after him properly. Not at all.” + 

She stood amazed, having no idea of what he meant. + 

“The fellow has a wife of his own. Children too. And yet he is running after another man’s wife.” + 

Hanka turned white; the words were a thunderbolt. + 

“It’s true what I say. He wanders nightly. Has been seen out more than once.” + 

Her relief was immense, and she breathed freely again. She knew all about it⁠ ⁠… how he was driven to wander by the memories of the wrongs suffered. Oh, she understood him well! but the folk had painted things the colour they preferred. + 

“It may be that work, if he sets to it, will drive lovemaking from his mind.” + 

“He is a farmer’s son.⁠ ⁠…” + 

“Oh, yes! Quite a Squire, is he not? And he would pick and choose, just like swine before a full trough. If he is so hard to please, why did he quarrel with his father? why run after Yagna? For think of the sin and the shame of it!” + 

“Sir!” she exclaimed, hastily. “What on earth are you thinking of?” + 

“I only say the thing that is. All Lipka knows. You may ask,” he rapped out jerkily, in a loud voice; for he was a very impulsive man, who always liked to blurt out things just as they were. + 

“Well, but may he come here?” she asked, almost in a whisper. + 

“He may. Tomorrow, if he cares⁠—What ails you? what are these tears for?” + 

“Nothing⁠ ⁠… nothing but the cold.” + 

And she went away, with slow, heavy footsteps, scarcely able to crawl along. The world had grown dark for her, the snow was grey now, she could not find the path she came by, and tried in vain to brush away the tears that were freezing on her lashes. So she walked on, wrapped in darkness, very sudden⁠—and dolorous⁠—O Lord! how dolorous! + 

“He, in love with Yagna!⁠ ⁠… With Yagna!” She stood breathless, her heart fluttering like a shot bird. + 

“But perhaps it is a falsehood; the man may have lied!” In her fright she clung to this possibility and clutched at it with both hands. + 

“Lord! was there not enough of misery and humiliation already, but this⁠—this too must fall upon my wretched head?” She gave way to her grief for a moment, moaning aloud; then, to overcome it, began to run as though wolves had been on her track, so that she entered her hut all panting and more dead than alive. + 

Antek had not returned. + 

The little ones were on their grandfather’s sheepskin, spread out as a rug before the fireplace, and he was making a little windmill to amuse them. + 

“Hanka, they have brought wool⁠—brought it in three sacks.” + 

She opened them, and at the top of one found a loaf, some bacon, and at least half a gallon of groats. + 

“God bless her for her generous heart!” she said, much moved, and thereupon prepared a plentiful supper, and afterwards at once put the children to bed. + 

The whole cabin was very quiet now. On Veronka’s side they had gone to bed already, and her father had fallen asleep in his pallet near the fire. But Hanka remained in front of the hearth and span. + 

She span long and far into the night, even to the first cockcrow, and as she twisted the thread, so too she revolved in her mind the miller’s words: “He is running after Yagna.”⁠—Yagna! + 

The spinning-wheel hummed busily, monotonously, tranquilly. Night, with frozen face, looked in at the window, and rattled at the panes, and sighed, pressing close against the wall. The cold came creeping out of the corners, caught at her feet, spread itself in hoary blotches over the clay floor; crickets struck up their ditty, somewhere behind the hearth, and only held their peace when either of the children cried out in his sleep or turned in his bed. Yet more intense grew the frost, clutching all things and pressing them in his iron claws: many a time did the planks overhead crack and creak, and fissures were cloven in the old bulging walls with a noise like a pistol-shot, and fibres in some beam broke, with a rull report. Surely the cold had penetrated even to the house-foundations; they shuddered at times, it seemed, with the pain of it, and the hut itself shrank together, crouching and quaking in the dreadful frost. + 

“Why did the thought of this never come to me? Aye, she⁠—so well-favoured, so well-knit, so comely to behold! And I⁠—a poor thin creature, merely skin and bones! Have I the power to attract him? dare I even try? If I should give my heart’s blood, it were naught: he cares no whit for me. What am I to him?” + 

Helplessness, still but torturing⁠—how cruelly torturing!⁠—now took possession of all her being. She was even beyond shedding tears. She felt as if she were a shrub that the frost is killing, that is as unable to avoid its doom as to cry for help or to protect itself: anguish was riving her soul as the frost rives the shrub. Resting her head on her wheel, she dropped her hands and looked out into vacancy, musing on her lot. Long, long did her reverie last, with only at times a few burning tears falling from her heavy eyelids on to the wool, there to freeze into a rosary of anguish⁠—tears, as it were, of blood. + 

The next day she rose somewhat calmer. This was of course; the storm had had time to blow over. What the miller said might or might not be true; but should she droop and complain, now that everything was on her shoulders⁠—the children, and the house matters, and all the trouble and woe? + 

Who would see to things, unless she did? She knelt down before our Lady of Sorrows, and prayed fervently; and, begging our Lord to set things to rights, she made a vow that she would go on foot to Chenstohova in the spring, and have three masses said, and⁠—as soon as she should be able⁠—take a great lump of wax to the church for tapers to be made of it. + 

Greatly relieved by this vow, she was able to do plenty of spinning; but the day, though bright and sunny, seemed immeasurably lengthy to her, and her anxiety about Antek increased. + 

He came at last, but only in the evening, at suppertime, and looking so worn and subdued, and greeting her so kindly! He had bought some rolls for the little ones. + 

She almost forgot her suspicion. And when he also went to cut straw for fodder, and helped her with the animals, she felt tenderly and deeply agitated. + 

However, he neither told her where he had been nor what he had done, and she did not venture to question him. + 

When supper was over, Staho came in: a thing he frequently did, in spite of Veronka’s prohibition; and a little later, quite unexpectedly, who should drop in but old Klemba? They were not a little surprised, for since their expulsion no one in the village had been to call upon them yet: it seemed clear enough that he had come on some business or other. + 

But he told them quite simply that he had come to see them because nobody else came. + 

They were sincerely and deeply grateful. + 

Sitting one alongside of the other on the bench in front of the fire, they then entered into grave and serious conversation, while old Bylitsa now and then put more fuel on the hearth. + 

“A pretty sharp frost, is it not?” + 

“So sharp,” said Staho, “one can hardly thresh without sheepskin and gloves on.” + 

“The worst is that wolves are about!” + 

All stared at Klemba in astonishment. + 

“Oh, ’tis quite true. Last night they were at the Voyt’s, burrowing under the sty. Something must have frightened them away, for they did not get at the pig: but the burrow ran quite beneath the foundations; I went myself at noon to see. There must have been five of them at least.” + 

“That, beyond all doubt, betokens a hard winter.” + 

“Yes, the frosts have only just begun, and behold, the wolves are here!” + 

“Near Vola,” Antek said, with much animation, “on the road beyond the mill, I saw tracks of a whole pack, crossing the way slantwise; but I fancied they were the Manor hounds. Very like, they were wolves.” + 

“Went ye as far as the clearing?” + 

“Not so; but I hear it said they are only felling the wood bought close to Vilche Doly.” + 

“The keeper told me the Squire will not take a single man from Lipka to work there: punishing them, I suppose, because they stand up for their rights.” + 

“Who is to cut down the trees, if not the men of Lipka?” Hanka asked. + 

“My good Hanka, there are folk in plenty seeking work, begging for work. Are there few in Vola itself? few in Rudka? and in Debitsa, are the paupers fewer? Let the Squire but lift up his voice: he will find hundreds of able-bodied peasants who will swarm round him the very same day. So long as they fell trees only on the purchased land, let them do so by all means; there is but little of it, and besides, it is too far from our village.” + 

“What if they set to work on our forest too?” Stach inquired. + 

“That we will not permit!” Klemba replied, briefly and with emphasis. “We will fight it out, and the Squire shall learn who is the stronger⁠—he or all the people. Yes, he shall learn.” + 

Here they dropped the subject, which was a matter too burning to please anyone; but not before old Bylitsa had, in stammering and hesitating tones, had his say about it: + 

“I know that generation of the Squires of Vola, I know them well: they will steal a march upon you somehow.” + 

“Let them try,” said Klemba. “We are not little children. They shall not succeed.” And no more was said. + 

Then they spoke of Magda, and how the organist had expelled her. Here again, Klemba gave his decision: + 

“Aye, the deed was not very charitable. But then one cannot force them to set up an infirmary in their home for Magda, who is neither kith nor kin to them.” + 

The talk then became desultory, and the guests left them somewhat late. As he went, Klemba, after his short-spoken and simple fashion, told them, “if they lacked of aught, just to let him know, and he would behave as a neighbour should do.” + 

And now Antek and his wife were alone. + 

Hanka hesitated a long time; but at last, after many timorous catchings of the breath, she asked him if he had found any work. + 

“No. I was at more than one manor, and looked about me there, and among the folk too; but I found nothing.” This he said with a low voice and eyes on the ground; for though he had indeed wandered about, he had done nothing more, and made no attempt to get work. + 

They went to bed. The children were asleep by this time; they lay at the foot of the bed for the sake of greater warmth. Darkness reigned, save for the moonbeams that darted through the sparkling frozen panes and threw a luminous band obliquely athwart the room; but the two could not sleep. Hanka tossed from side to side, considering whether she had better tell him about the sawmill now, or wait till the morrow. + 

“Yes, I went seeking work. But even had I found something, I would not have left the village. To go astray about the world like a masterless dog is not to my liking.” So he whispered, after a protracted silence. + 

“Why, that is just what I too was thinking⁠—just the very same as you!” she said joyfully. “Why go away and seek for bread, when we can get quite good work here at home? The miller assured me he had something for you to do at the sawmill, and that you might begin tomorrow. You would get two zloty fifteen groschen!” + 

“What?” he snarled. “Did you go a-begging to him?” + 

“No, no,” she explained in much fear. “I only went to pay what I owed him; and he told me himself he intended to send for you.” + 

Antek did not answer. The two lay motionless and speechless side by side; but sleep fled from their eyes. They were thinking, thinking, down in the mysterious depths of their minds; sometimes breathing a sigh, or at others letting their souls melt away in the dull dead stillness. Outside, far, far and faint on the countryside, they heard dogs baying, and cocks flapping their wings, and crowing at midnight, and the muffled murmur of the wind soughing overhead. + 

“Do you sleep?” She crept a little closer to him. + 

“No.⁠—Slumber has forsaken me.” + 

He was on his back, his hands clasped behind his head. So near her! yet in heart and thoughts so far off! He lay very still, almost without breathing, forgetful of everything; for once more Yagna’s eyes shone out of the dark⁠—deep blue in the moonlit night. + 

Hanka approached him yet nearer, and rested her burning face upon his shoulder. No suspicions now remained in her heart, nor any regrets, nor the least drop of bitterness; only true love, faithful affection, full of trust and self-surrender. And she came close⁠—close to his heart. + 

“Antek,” she asked him with a thrill of eagerness, “will you go to work tomorrow?” She was so fain⁠—so longing to hear his voice, and converse with him, heart to heart. + 

“Perhaps I shall. Yes, I must go; I must.” But his mind was filled with other thoughts. + 

“Pray, Antek, go. Go, I pray you.” With a tender appeal, she put her arm around his neck, and sought his lips, which hardly breathed, with the burning kisses of her mouth. + 

Not the least emotion did he feel. He paid no heed to her embraces, he was not even aware of her at all, as with eyes wide open he gazed into those other eyes⁠—Yagna’s eyes. + 