Mrs. Tiralla had not time to think of her daughter at present, for all her thoughts were centred in Martin Becker. The summer was far gone and autumn was approaching, and she sometimes had a feeling as though the man she loved would depart with the swallows. And if that were his intention, then, then----An icy dread made her shiver.

Mr. Tiralla did nothing now but vegetate, sleep and drink, drink and sleep. He grew more and more dull-witted [Pg 240] every day, shunned everybody, sat brooding for hours together with his gla.s.s in front of him, now and then had fits in which he would suddenly bellow like an ox that the butcher has just given a blow between the eyes with his axe, then fall down like the ox, clench his fists in rage or agony, foaming at the mouth, and with a rattling noise in his throat, roll his eyes, hit about him like a madman, and at last fall into a deep sleep, dead-tired. He had more than once lain on the ground so rigid and icy-cold that Marianna had buried her face in her hands and howled--now it was all over--and his wife had stood by him with her finger on her lips, her big eyes bigger than ever, and her neck stretched out, listening. But he always awoke again. And even if he felt stiff and weak, and complained of such pains in his limbs that he dragged his legs along as though paralyzed and could hardly walk, he still went on living. He, who had formerly been so stout, now shrivelled up and grew yellow and thin, and was always hoa.r.s.e, and did not relish his food any longer. Mikolai noticed it, and made up his mind to send for a doctor to see his father, but his stepmother said what was the good of asking his advice? He would not be able to do anything after all. So the young fellow gave up the idea, and preferred to use the money it would have cost to have a doctor to buy a new spencer for Marianna, and a fur cap for himself for the autumn, so that he might find favour in the eyes of all the girls.

They cured Mr. Tiralla themselves. Strong wine was good in a case of great debility, and it was a medicine which Mr. Tiralla would not pour out of the window. And for the weakness in the legs nothing was so efficacious as a bottle of Pain Expeller when well rubbed in. You could buy it at the chemist's in Gnesen, and [Pg 241] it would have a good effect if used morning and evening.

But after Marianna, who took care of Mr. Tiralla, had rubbed him the first time, she came running to her mistress in great tribulation. She had hardly uncorked the bottle, she said--true, it had smelt very good, sharp and pungent like strong gin--when the master tore it out of her hand, sniffed it, and then took such a quick, deep gulp of it, that she had been afraid it would harm him.

But the Pain Expeller did not harm Mr. Tiralla, as it could just as well be used internally as externally. So after that he took a gulp of it morning and evening, and sometimes during the day as well, when his legs required an extra rubbing.

The harvest had all been gathered in, and the wind swept across the stubble, carrying the loosened cobwebs along with it.

Mrs. Tiralla was standing in the gateway looking away over the empty fields at the signs of departing summer. She shivered and wrapped herself up in her shawl; she was filled with a strange feeling of uneasiness. The time had come which she had always feared; the swallows were sitting huddled together on the telegraph wires, gathering together for their flight. To-morrow would be St. Mary's Day, and then they would depart. And he?

The woman pressed her hands together and gazed with terrified eyes at the image of the Virgin in the niche. Martin had gone to confession, for there would be plenary indulgence at the great festival to-morrow.

Oh, if only she, too, had gone! She felt sorry now that she had put it off. Then they could have walked [Pg 242] to Starawies and back again together. What a long time it was since they had walked together.

He had not had time lately, they had been obliged to get on with the harvest, and he had worked so hard that he was too tired in the evening to do anything but sleep. How often she had fretted to think that she was not strong enough to work in the fields like Marianna and other girls, then she would have walked close behind him, would have stooped continually to pick up the corn he had mown, and would never have felt tired being so near him.

Now the harvest was over and the winter was drawing near, with its days when there is hardly anything to do, days in which you can loiter about and be so happy, _tete-a-tete_ with the one you love, but which are awful, awful when you are alone. The woman shuddered.

Why should she always imagine that he intended to leave Starydwor? He had never said a word about it. n.o.body had ever said a word about it to her, and still she felt sure of it. She had looked into his heart, and it had lost some of its joyousness. But was there any place in Starydwor where you could feel happy? No, no, no! Her very heart quivered. She often felt as if the old walls were going to fall down on her. And the old pines on the outskirts of the Przykop used to bend their tops at night in the direction of the farm, and groan as though the souls of those who could find no rest were moaning in their branches.

And the rats, too, that had remained quiet for so long in the cellar, had begun again to glide from corner to corner, and through Mrs.

Tiralla's dreams like ghosts that were pursuing her. Mr. Tiralla had lived too long. If he were not there she would be happy, for then she could leave the place with Martin [Pg 243] Becker, if he would not remain at Starydwor; even though she would have to go on her bare feet, how gladly she would do so!

Mrs. Tiralla looked with longing eyes towards Starawies, whose church steeple was pointing to heaven like a finger. She would feel easier as soon as she saw Martin again. "For G.o.d's sake don't leave me, darling," she would beseech him. It was not his face that she loved so much that she could not live without it even for a few hours, it was not his laugh that had bewitched her, neither was it his light footstep, nor his slender, erect body, but it was his youth she wanted, his heart that was so young, so fresh, so pure, that it carried hers away too to where everything was bright and happy.

"Martin, Martin!" She stretched out her arms as she gave the beloved name into the care of the winds. Then she saw him coming. He was alone, for Mikolai, who had gone to confession with him, had stopped at the booths behind the church. He came quickly along the edge of the field, as though he were in a hurry. The woman smiled--ah, he was longing to see her, as she him. "Martin!" she called once more; a sweet welcome lay in her voice.

But he gave a start. About what was he thinking so gloomily? It was not his wont to frown like that and keep his eyes lowered. And he did not jump over the ditch that separated the field from the road, as he generally did in order to reach the farm gate more quickly; it looked almost as though his footsteps lagged, as he deliberately walked along to the crossing that led into the road further down.

She went to meet him. What did she care if the people from the settlement were standing at the crossroads near the Bo[^z]a meka on their way back from [Pg 244] church, staring at them open-mouthed? She seized hold of his hands and smiled at him. "What are you thinking of, dear?"

"I've been to confession," he said in a low voice, as he drew his hands away from her and put them behind his back, so that she could not get hold of them. He walked beside her, his head bent and without touching her.

How his face used to beam when he saw her again after an hour's separation! How he had wanted to touch her even though it were only her dress! What was it, what could it be? A sudden sense of hopelessness took possession of the woman. Yes, he was going away from her, he was trying to leave her. As she gazed into his face she could discover no sign of joy at seeing her again, but a struggle was depicted on his open features, which had never been able to hide anything. "I've been to confession," he had said, nothing more. Alas, alas, _what_ had he confessed? What penance had been laid upon him?

She trembled as she pressed closer to him. "What are you going to do?"

she panted.

"I'm going now," he whispered, shaken. "I'm going. Oh, if only I could!" He uttered a deep sigh.

His sigh gave her back her courage. She felt that it was difficult for him to leave, and that made her feel stronger. "You'll not go," she said, smiling amidst her tears, "you'll not leave me. I love you so dearly. And--aren't we husband and wife in the sight of G.o.d?" The words came to her like an inspiration. They would calm him--husband and wife in the sight of G.o.d. "And those whom G.o.d hath joined together let no man put asunder."

"Be silent!" he cried vehemently, raising his hand [Pg 245] as though terrified. "You must not interpret it in that way. I've sinned against the sixth and ninth commandments; I know it now." He bent his head very low.

"Have you betrayed me?" she stammered, turning pale and then flushing.

"I've not betrayed you," he said sadly. "But I've betrayed myself, if you call that 'betraying.' How could I do otherwise? I had to confess that I had unclean desires, that I"--he stopped and pressed his hands to his head--"oh, if I had never come here! _Psia krew_, if only I had never seen you." He gave a dry sob as though he were a boy, and ran away from her through the gate and over the yard into the house, banging the door after him.

She followed him with her eyes. What she had had a presentiment of had now happened, what she had never dreamt of at first had come after all.

She stood as though crushed. She felt a pain as though there were something in her throat. It was her terror that was choking her, but she forced it down. Clenching her fists so tightly together that her nails dug into the flesh, she threw her head back. She would not give him up--and she need not do so either.

But how, how was she to set about it, how was she to bring about that he remained with her for ever? She stared at the empty fields with lifeless eyes. Then she threw herself on her knees in her terror and distress and deep despair. Here under the sky, that looked like a dome over the flat land, she would pray, she would cry at the door of heaven, so that the saints who were inside might hear her and give her advice and be merciful to her.

She knelt a long time in front of the niche in which the image of the Virgin stood. Ah, the Holy Mother [Pg 246] up there knew her feelings, for had she not felt seven swords piercing her heart? She would help her, she must help her. She prayed fervently. And whilst praying, all kinds of plans flashed through her mind. Should she, too, go to Starawies to confession? But how was she to begin? How should she express herself, so that she betrayed nothing to Father Szypulski, and still was delivered from her agony of mind? She did not know what to do. Her agony was so great, it seemed to grow and grow in spite of her prayers, until it was unendurable. If only she could find peace, peace--but she could only find that when Mr. Tiralla was in his grave.

All at once the woman's lifeless eyes grew animated, and a wave of colour mounted to her pale cheeks. The thought had come to her that if Mr. Tiralla were to die Martin Becker would not hurry away from Starydwor. There would be no need for him to hurry away, for she would be free and could love whom she wished. And n.o.body would object then, not even Father Szypulski.

She buried her face in her hands and shivered with delight. What a life of bliss displayed itself before her eyes! But--all her misery came back to her once more--but who would help her to this? She had no more poison, and her hands--taking them away from her face she stared at them--these feeble hands could not give him such a push that he, staggering at the graveside, as he did already, could tumble in altogether and stretch his aching limbs in welcome peace. Mr. Tiralla wanted to die, she saw it in his face, she knew it. Had he not groaned, "If only I were dead!" when they had helped him a short time ago out of the ditch into which he had fallen in a fit of weakness, when he had gone out to meet the last wagonful of corn?

It would certainly be best for him if he were dead. [Pg 247] Rosa shuddered when she saw her father's yellow face and blood-shot eyes, and smelt his foul breath, and Mikolai felt very annoyed with him, although he now and then laughed at what he babbled in his weakmindedness.

If Mr. Tiralla were not there! Oh, would the children not draw a deep breath of relief when their father was out of the house? It was really true his presence weighed on everybody. He was so repulsive to look at, and his continual coughing and groaning were horrible to listen to. If only she could deliver them all from him, and at the same time give the man his freedom! It would, indeed, be a good deed. But how was she to set about it? Mr. Tiralla had an excellent const.i.tution in spite of everything; he would not drink himself to death quickly enough. Now and then he did not even care to drink, and he would sometimes push his gla.s.s away as though he disliked it. But he must drink, must drink more, even if she had to fill his gla.s.s herself! Martin must not leave Starydwor, he must remain!

The woman raised her hands to the image, "Help, help!"

All at once she bethought herself of the schoolmaster. What if he were to come more frequently and drink with her husband? He must have somebody to drink with him, so that he got to like it better, so that he felt an eager desire for beer, wine, and gin. Mr. Bohnke had come once a week during the summer, and then Mr. Tiralla had always drunk an enormous quant.i.ty, but the man had lately stopped away. He must come again. Not once a week--no, often, often, every day if possible, for--the woman started convulsively--for there were not many more weeks before Martin Becker would be leaving.

[Pg 248]

If she could delay his departure, only for a little while, for one more month, two months, for then, then--the woman rose from her knees and drew a deep breath--then the difficult task would, nay, must, have been accomplished.

As they sat at supper that evening, Martin Becker began to speak of going away. You could see that it was very difficult for him to give notice, he could hardly get it out; his face was burning and he kept his eyes fixed on the ground.

Mikolai had just returned from the fair in high spirits, but his good humour now quickly disappeared. What, Martin wanted to leave--what was the meaning of it? That was a nice piece of news! He had never mentioned anything to him about it before. "What's the reason of this all of a sudden, eh?"

He did not care to continue as a farmer, said Martin hesitatingly. He wanted to look about him a little, perhaps look out for a mill.

But that could not be arranged so quickly, said Mikolai, who began to stand up for his rights as master, after he had caught an imploring look from his stepmother. He could not get away from his engagement in that cool way, although they were friends and had always agreed. Was he going to leave him in the lurch just when he had the autumn sowing to do? Mikolai grew furious when he saw all his beautiful plans disappear like bubbles. "It's a confounded nuisance!" he cried, banging the table as he shot a look of fierce accusation at his old father. He, he alone, was to blame for everything going wrong. What other reason could there be for Martin no longer feeling happy at Starydwor? There was no doubt [Pg 249] about it; the old man, who was always drunk now, had grown very objectionable. "Stop with us, do stop," he said, returning to the charge, and cordially stretching his hand out to his friend. "I promise we'll alter what you don't like."

Mrs. Tiralla gave a start; now his own son had even said it. "We'll alter what you don't like." She gave Mikolai a significant look and tried to catch his foot under the table; let him urge Martin as much as possible.

So Mikolai, who suddenly thought with dread of having to work all alone at Starydwor, had recourse to begging. Had they not sworn to be like brothers, and not to leave each other if they could be of any use?

Could Martin not see that it would be hard work, much too hard work for him quite alone here? "Father's health is failing," he said; "how long will he last?" He cast a half contemptuous, half sad look at the man sitting there so dead to everything; it was hard to see his father like that. "Martin, brother! And I had hoped that we two should always remain together, and that you would marry my Rosa!" he exclaimed in quite a mournful voice.

At that moment Martin, who had listened to it all in silence with his eyes persistently lowered, jumped up so vehemently that he upset his chair. "No, no!" he cried, turning quite white.

Mrs. Tiralla, too, grew as pale as death. They glanced at each other for a moment, almost timidly.

"Let me go," begged the young man. Then his voice grew more energetic.

"I must go. I----"

He stopped; Rosa, who had been sitting quietly at the table, so quietly that they had scarcely noticed her, suddenly got up and fled out of the room. Martin thought he could see that her face was suffused with a [Pg 250] deep blush and that she was fighting with her tears. He felt so sorry for her, she was a good girl! But it was better she should think he did not care for her. It would not do--no, it would never do.