Rosa was singing as she crossed the fields. She felt so well, so light-hearted. At last she had been to confession. The snow had melted, Eastertide was drawing near, now she could sing.

Her clear voice sounded jubilant as it rose into the blue sky. It was spring, spring. The fresh grass was sprouting near the broad ditch, the corn that had been kept warm under the snow was now green and thick. Christ was risen and therefore the earth rejoiced.

Rosa took out of her pocket the paper on which she, during the winter, had noted down all she had to confess. She had examined her conscience most carefully; it was a long, long piece of paper, with many sins written on it. But she had got rid of them all now, and that was why she felt so happy. Now she could tear it to pieces.

She stood still, and tearing the paper into shreds threw them high into the air. Off they flew. How the wind carried them away, higher and higher, as high as the lark which was hovering up there. They were flying to God.

Rosa mingled her song with the lark's trills, in joyous, jerky rhythm.

It was no longer the same shrill, piping child's voice; it was a girl's voice now, full and pleasing. When there was any singing going on in the school, the master always told Rosa Tiralla to stand up first so as to lead the others. She liked doing that. Mr. BÖhnke was altogether very good to her, and it would grieve her to leave school. She would soon be fourteen, and then she wouldn't do any more lessons; then--a strange, dreamy look came into her eyes--oh, no, she wasn't going to marry like other girls and have children--no. Her face, that had all at once clouded over, grew bright again; she was to be the Bride of the Church, her mother had said so. Mr. BÖhnke said so as well, and the priest said so. And they praised her for it. And Marianna stared at her, "Oh, a nun! That's something very beautiful, something very grand, oh!" And Jendrek almost looked upon her as a saint already. Everybody looked at her in quite a different way now from what they used to do when she was nothing but little Rosa Tiralla. Only her daddy wouldn't hear of it--poor daddy. What a pity it was that he was so wicked. A look full of deep thought cast a sudden gloom over the young face that had just been so bright. Was her mother right? Would it have been better for him never to have been born?

Rosa used to cry bitterly when the thought came to her that her father might perhaps never go to heaven. Her dear father. He really was good; how could it be that her mother and Mr. BÖhnke always said he was not?

Doubts had lately crept into Rosa's heart, her belief in her father had been shaken. Had her mother or the schoolmaster brought this about, or had she become alive to many things that did not please her? Why did her father always pinch Marianna's cheek, or even her leg when she was standing on the ladder? That wasn't nice of him. And he used to swear, and it's wicked to swear. Oh, how she would beg her dear father to leave off swearing--her dear father--yes, yes, he was still her dear father.

When Rosa now saw him come tramping across the field to meet her, she ran up to him and threw herself into his arms.

He had been looking out for his little daughter for a long time, and welcomed her with a loud laugh that could be heard far across the fields.

"Well, my darling, have you confessed all your sins? Psia krew, if a man had as few sins to confess as you, he wouldn't need to go to confession."

"I've fourteen rosaries to say over," said Rosa, looking very important. Then she added gravely, "Seven for myself and seven for you, father."

He gave a boisterous laugh. Then he kissed her. "You're my consolation, the key which is to open heaven's door for me. I've always said, pray, pray, my angel. If you're praying, the devil will bang the door and leave me outside."

Rosa shuddered. What horrid things her daddy always said. How could he joke about such matters?

"Ah, daddy," she said, in a low, insinuating voice, thrusting her narrow little hand into his big one, "I'm always praying that you may go to heaven."

"Really?" He was touched. "That's very nice of you."

"Mother also prays that you may go to heaven, father."

Mr. Tiralla was also very touched to hear that. Oh, yes, she was a splendid little woman was his Sophia, and loved him even if she didn't always show it, especially lately. Ugh, how cold and forbidding she was sometimes; she made you freeze. But she was a pious woman. Then knitting his brows together, as though something were tormenting him, he said to the child, "When you are married, my dear Rosa, always try to please your husband; he'll like that." He gave a little sigh, but then he laughed. "When Mikolai comes back from the army and marries, I'll rub it into him, too, 'Take a complaisant wife.' Ha, ha, his mother, my late wife, Hanusia, was complaisant enough, that's certain--ha, ha."

"Will Mikolai soon be coming back from the army?" inquired Rosa. She had been such a stupid little thing when he had gone away three years before. But now she was wiser, and she realized how nice it was to have a little brother. The only time he had come home on furlough during all those years she had been very ill with scarlet fever, and he hadn't been allowed to come to her on account of the infection. She was, therefore, doubly glad to see him now. How she would love him. "Will my little brother soon be coming back?" she repeated anxiously.

"H'm, a nice little brother!" laughed her father. "Do you really think they could do with a 'little brother' in the horse guards? He's a big brother, I can tell you, an enormous fellow. He was as tall as I when I went to see him last autumn. And what fists he has got. He won't want a team of oxen to pull the cart, he'll do it himself. But he'll be good to his little sister. Who wouldn't be good to you, my wee one?" He took hold of her little face with his big hand and stroked it tenderly and carefully.

Rosa smiled. "I'll love him," she cried enthusiastically, "and he'll love me. We're all to love each other, Jesus bids us do so."

"Yes, that's what I think, too," said her father, "we're all to love each other." He suddenly thought of his wife, from whom he had neither received kiss nor friendly look that day. So instead of inspecting his corn, as he had intended doing, he returned home with his daughter.

They walked hand in hand. Their figures--his thick-set, a massive tree-trunk, hers a delicate leaf blown about by the wind--could be seen afar off in the flat, treeless field.

Mrs. Tiralla was in the sitting-room with BÖhnke, and saw them in the distance through the gateway. "There he is again," she said, with a look of disgust on her face.

Already? The schoolmaster sighed. He had been so delighted to find the woman he adored alone at home--he had seen little Rosa on her way to the village--and now they were so soon to be disturbed. What did that horrid fellow mean by always coming back? BÖhnke quite forgot that this house to which he came regularly every Sunday and very often besides, belonged to Mr. Tiralla, and that the latter invariably received him with a loud welcome and ordered the best they had to be served up in his honour. But the farmer's presence always inconvenienced him, and especially to-day. Mrs. Tiralla had been about to pour out her heart to him, and the thought of the moment when at last he would be able to console the sad-looking woman made him tremble.

"I'm in trouble," she had said, when he had asked her if she had a headache. There were dark, heavy shadows under her eyes, and her pale mouth drooped so sadly that he had thought she was ill.

"Oh, how I'm suffering," she had cried, in a sudden outburst of grief and fury, and had run up and down the room with both hands flung high above her head. She had come to a standstill close in front of him, and her black eyes had blazed. "What would you say if I ran away from him? Away, anywhere, over the fields, only away."

The passion with which she had uttered those words had terrified him. Away, away over the fields, but where would she go?

"That's for you to tell me." Then she had given a loud, scornful laugh; in spite of all his cleverness he did not know where she was to go either. There really was nobody, nobody who could advise her. What would he say if she went into the Przykop into the deep morass, where the pool under the drooping birches was just now as deep as any lake on account of the rainy spring? If she went into it up to her mouth, or even a little further, and never more appeared, what would he say then? Would he shed a tear in memory of her, a little forget-me-not in his book of memories?

"God forbid!" he had exclaimed, seizing hold of her hand in sudden fear. How could she say such things, even have such thoughts? She was so good, so beautiful, there was still much happiness in store for her.

"Never, so long as Mr. Tiralla is alive!"

"But he won't go on living for ever."

Then she had flashed a glance at him, a swift and strangely scrutinizing glance. It was as though she had wanted to confide something to him, but dared not. Had he said that without thinking, or did he really mean it?

Mrs. Tiralla had shrunk back into herself again in a sudden fit of shyness. But she could not bear to keep silent, she simply longed to speak to somebody about it all. If only she could--dared--say to him, "In a secret chamber of the loft there stands an old chest, and in that old chest I've hidden something." But then if he should say, "Poison!" and should shudder with horror when he said it? She eyed him narrowly through her lowered lids, whilst her long lashes slowly fanned her pale cheeks like a pair of weary wings.

But the young man saw nothing but her beauty, his eyes were fixed on the mental vision of the charms which her enamoured husband had described to him. How he pitied this beautiful woman. What a misfortune to be chained to such a man. She wanted to run away, to take her own life? Oh, how dreadful for such a beautiful creature to be sick of life. That overbearing fellow, that scoundrel! Psia krew, why couldn't he die? Then she would be free.

He had not meant anything when he had said before, "But he won't go on living for ever." It had merely been a phrase, used in order to console the poor woman. But now those words seemed to express something desirable, something really necessary. Was there any reason why the man should go on living for ever? An all-wise Providence had no doubt seen what was happening and would probably remove this fellow, who would leave no vacant place behind him, and would be mourned for by no one. How easily he could be carried off by illness, brought on by a cold in the spring, or by excessive eating. No, Mr. Tiralla could not go on living for ever. Besides, he was much older than she. Only have patience, he would not go on living for ever. He must not, no, by all the saints--and this certainty impressed itself firmly on the schoolmaster's mind--Mr. Tiralla should not go on living for ever!

The man drew a deep, trembling breath of relief, after which he felt easier. Then he raised his eyes, which had been lowered in profound thought, and met those of the woman. They looked long and searchingly at each other.

"There he is again," sighed Mrs. Tiralla, who was standing near the window.

BÖhnke noticed the disgust depicted on her face, that beautiful face, whose mouth was polluted every day by the word "beast." Had he not seen for himself how that monster had annoyed her with his kisses? The young man grew cold, then hot, whilst the flames of jealousy rushed to his head. Nobody, nobody should kiss her mouth, if he might not kiss it, too--no, only he, quite alone. He stretched out his hand gropingly and seized hers. The woman was weeping, and she allowed him to do so. Then he jerked out hurriedly--there was no time to lose, Mr. Tiralla could come in any moment--jerked out in a breathless voice and without reflection, but still as though he were swearing it solemnly:

"Don't cry. By God, Mr. Tiralla shall not go on living for ever!"

"Mammie," cried RÖschen joyously, as she came into the room, and letting her father's hand go she ran up to her mother. "I'm to give you Father Szypulski's kind regards. Oh, it was so beautiful! I'm so happy! I could sing the whole time, I----" Then, catching sight of the schoolmaster, she curtseyed and held out her hand to him, blushing.

BÖhnke bent over her more than was necessary, for she reached up to his shoulders, but he wished to hide his gleaming eyes and his cheeks that were burning with excitement. He could not have looked Mr. Tiralla in the face at that moment.

But the woman was perfectly calm. She had fully understood what it was the schoolmaster had said to her, and a feeling of profound relief filled her heart with joy. Ah, now the Holy Virgin was at last going to keep the promise she had given her through Rosa. She had sent her somebody who was on her side, and who would advise her and help her--for had he not clearly said, "I'll look after that"?--and who belonged to her alone.

She felt so happy and cheerful now, so different. She kissed Rosa and even held out her cheek of her own accord when her husband, with a smirk on his face, reproached her for not having given him a single kiss that day. But all the time she kept her eyes fixed on the schoolmaster, who was standing at the window biting his lip.

How could she be so calm, so bright, yes, really so bright? BÖhnke couldn't understand it. He felt far from happy. He felt as though he had done a very stupid thing, as though he had allowed himself to be carried away by his emotions. He was seized with a sudden feeling of anger and indignation against Mrs. Tiralla; why had she complained to him, what had that disgusting tale of her marriage to do with him?

But then when she gazed at him with her beautiful, sparkling eyes in that familiar, friendly way, and smiled at him with the same sweet smile that little Rosa had inherited from her, then his anger melted as well as all his scruples. She had never seemed more lovely. Her white ball-dress had suited her well, but this short, plain, woollen skirt, which showed her neat feet and shiny leather slippers, the white apron, the check blouse and small white collar suited her a hundred times better. Oh, how beautiful, how beautiful she looked! His head was in a whirl.

The farmer invited him to have supper with them, and he gladly accepted. He even accepted an invitation for Easter.

Mr. Tiralla was basking in the light of his Sophia's smiles, and felt so happy that he would have liked to invite the whole world. He sat at the table and laughed as he satisfied his enormous appetite. It was still Lent, and the meal was frugal, "but at Easter, my little BÖhnke," he cried, filling his mouth with fried potatoes, "at Easter you shall have a feast!"

Mrs. Tiralla and the schoolmaster exchanged a glance. What impertinence to say, "my little BÖhnke!" But he was always so rough and vulgar.

Rosa sat near her father. She did not want anything to eat; she never ate much, and to-day her happiness had quite taken away her appetite. It had been such a beautiful, beautiful day. Was it because she had prayed so very fervently at the altar that her daddy was now so good? He didn't swear at all, he didn't even look at Marianna, although her short, white sleeves were fresh from the wash. They reached as far as her bare elbows, and she had a black bodice on and all her coloured beads round her neck. Now her mother would be kinder to her daddy. Oh, if only it could always be like this. How much nicer it was when her mother didn't cry or look angry. To-day was just like Easter, when the grave opened and Christ rose, hallelujah.

Her quiet happiness had brought a flush to her pale cheeks. She did not say much; Rosa was only eloquent in her prayers and when she spoke of what transformed her narrow, dark chamber into a Garden of Eden, and of what took place between heaven and earth. But she pressed her father's hand repeatedly, and when her mother happened to touch her in passing anything over the table, the child would furtively raise her sleeve to her lips and kiss it.

"Rosa looks better than she did last winter," remarked the schoolmaster, in order to say something. It was really quite immaterial to him if the anÆmic child looked paler or not, but his own silence terrified him. Surely the old man must notice something?

"She is certainly much better," answered Mrs. Tiralla hastily. "She only complained of being ill for a short time. Our winters are so raw. But now she's always well and happy, aren't you, darling? How could she be anything but happy, she, the Holy Virgin's favourite? Tell Mr. BÖhnke what she has revealed to you in your dreams, darling," and she nodded encouragingly to the child.

"I've not dreamt it." Rosa grew almost angry, and she flushed up to her hair-roots. "You're not to say that I dreamt it, mother. It was really true; I was just as wide awake as you are, and father, and Mr. BÖhnke. If you dream you surely don't see the cupboard and the clothes rack and the washstand and the wall, and you don't hear the clock ticking and father snoring downstairs and the wind howling in the pines outside. It was all there as usual, and I was lying in my bed as usual. But the room was full of a bright light. That was because the Holy Virgin was there. She was standing in the middle of the room. She had her crown on her head, and she wore a blue mantle, which was wide and had lots of folds, oat of which little angels were peeping."

Rosa made a pause, as though she wished to note the effect of this wonderful communication on her hearers.

Mr. Tiralla did not say a word. He was sitting with his head buried in his hands.

"Dear, dear!" exclaimed the schoolmaster, in order to show that he was attending. What on earth was the child talking about? He had not been listening very carefully.

But the woman nodded again to her daughter, who continued with sparkling eyes.

"Rosa,' said the dear Virgin. 'Rosa Tiralla, be not afraid.' 'I'm not afraid,' I said. Then she went on, 'I've chosen you. You are to remain a virgin and to go to the Grey Sisters or to the Ladies of the Sacred Heart, and there you are to pray for the conversion of sinners, for the strengthening of the faith----'" Here Rosa broke off. "I told all this to Father Szypulski to-day, and he explained to me what she really meant by it. I'm to pray for the conversion of the heterodox (those who don't believe the same as we do) and for the strengthening and propagation of our faith, which is the only faith which can save. And I'm to pray for my dear parents, and especially for my dear father, that his soul and his hands may again become clean, so that he can leave Purgatory and go to the dear angels above. Oh, father, dear father," she cried, in a terrified voice, putting her curly head down on his shoulder as he sat next to her, "how awful it would be if you were to be lost for ever!"

"Psia krew!" So far Mr. Tiralla had not said a word, but now he started up from his seat and banged the table with his fist. "Stop that twaddle!" He raised his hand as though he were going to box the child's ears. She shrank back and grew deadly pale.

"But, Mr. Tiralla!" exclaimed the schoolmaster, seizing hold of his arm, "it's wonderful, perfectly wonderful!"

Mrs. Tiralla made the sign of the cross as she cried, "Holy Mother! What a sin he's committing! May God not lay it to our charge."

"Hold your tongue," shouted her husband furiously. "You're making the girl quite crazy. And I'll not have her made crazy. Holy Virgin--Grey Sisters--Ladies of the Sacred Heart--all twaddle. She's to sleep when she goes to bed and not invent such nonsense. After to-day her bed is to be brought down into my room. Then I'll see if the Holy Virgin will come to her again. I feel certain she won't."

"That wouldn't be at all suitable," said Mrs. Tiralla in an icy tone. "Rosa is already a big girl."

"Tut, tut! Whether it's suitable or not, it'll be better for her to see what a man is like than to have her head turned with such unnatural stuff." He cast a suspicious glance at his wife.

Mrs. Tiralla grew frightened. If there were any talk about Rosa she knew that her husband was quite a different man; then he was no longer a fool, or a bear that growled a little and then let her lead him. So she wisely said:

"Very well, as you like. Let Rosa sleep down here with you. But I tell you, you'll not be able to scare away what is coming to her. Nobody can scare away what is coming," she added impressively, and gazed at him with such a strange look in her black eyes that the superstitious man shuddered.

"Rosa is one of the chosen ones," she continued. "She sees what you'll never see, and hears what you'll never hear. Very well, let her come down to you. Take firm hold of her hands and of her feet, too, she'll still leave you." The woman grew more and more excited the longer she spoke, and she gazed at her husband with eyes full of rebuke. "It'll be bad for you that you resist in this way. The saints will bear it in mind, and will not forgive you, and when you cry out for them to deliver you from Purgatory, they will not deliver you. You're a wicked man, a scoffer and a blasphemer! Alas, alas, what will become of you?"

"Do you really think so, really?" Mr. Tiralla felt somewhat disconcerted, her great earnestness bewildered him, and he moved restlessly backwards and forwards on his chair. If she were right? No, it was nothing but romantic nonsense. He was still in possession of his senses, and he would never, no never, allow any one to persuade his little girl, his dear RÖschen, who was to bring him so much happiness in this life--healthy grandchildren and all kinds of good things--to go into a convent. Yes, persuade her, that was the word. Sophia had always been too pious, he was sorry to say, and the priest, and the schoolmaster? "To the devil with you all!" he shouted, gaining courage at the sound of his own voice. "May he be struck with lightning who dares contradict me, when I say she's to be married as soon as possible. Nobody can be too young for that. And I'll procure her a nice husband. Then she'll grow happy and buxom, and when she gets a little boy on her lap--such a wee fellow who kicks about and wants nursing--then she'll not get any more of those stupid fancies. The Holy Virgin, the Holy Virgin! we pray to our Lady. But when Rosa is a mother herself, she'll have other things to think of." He laughed, his anger had almost disappeared again at the beautiful prospect which lay before him.

At that moment Mrs. Tiralla gave a shrill scream. "There, you see--there, you see what you've done."

Rosa had given a deep, plaintive sigh, her head had drooped forward like a withered flower, and she would have fallen from her chair if the schoolmaster had not caught her in his arms. She had fainted.

Mr. Tiralla was frightened to death. Alas, alas, what had he done? He would have liked to beat himself, to pull off his head. He struck his forehead with his clenched hand and called himself the most unflattering names he could think of, "fool, blockhead, idiot." He shouted for Marianna, roared for water, ordered Tokay--no, gin--wanted to pour it down the girl's throat, spilt it all over her, then called himself once more all kinds of names and almost wept.

They had pushed him away from his daughter. The schoolmaster still held her in his arms, whilst Marianna rubbed her cold feet and Mrs. Tiralla her temples, and breathed on her with the warm, vivifying breath from her powerful lungs. She did not feel so terrified, she knew what it was. Rosa used to faint very easily, it was on account of her age, the doctor had said, and there was nothing to be anxious about. But she pretended to be alarmed, for he deserved it. What if the child never recovered consciousness, never opened her eyes again? Alas, the Holy Virgin had sent it as a punishment.

The terrified man groaned aloud. Oh, God, he hadn't wanted to do that, not that! She should continue to sleep upstairs, he wouldn't say a word more about it, he would hide his own wishes deep down in his breast. Never again would he pollute her ears with such things, although he really couldn't understand in what way he had wounded her innocence to such a degree that she had fainted. Oh, he was a fool, he didn't understand any more what was going on in his own house. He remained sitting some time in silence, with his head buried in his hands. And then when the child began to stir and he heard her sigh and say in a feeble voice, "Ah, mammie," he got up hastily, took down his hat and coat from the rack and staggered out of the house.

He remained standing for a long time in the middle of the yard with his eyes fixed on the house. Wouldn't Rosa ask for him? Wouldn't she beg him to come to her?

But as nobody called him, and the light downstairs began to move about, then disappeared and finally shone in the little room upstairs--they were taking Rosa up to bed--he walked out of his gate with bent head.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

"He has really gone out," whispered Mrs. Tiralla, when she came back to the sitting-room. She had sat a long time with Mr. BÖhnke at the child's bedside. Rosa had been very excited. When she had recovered from her faint she had wept bitterly and had wanted to see her father. He had gone out, they told her, his conscience had left him no peace. After that the child had wept for a long time. Then she had been so worn out that she had dozed a little, but it had been no peaceful slumber, although her mother had held one of her hands and the schoolmaster the other. She had given several loud, terrified shrieks, her brows had contracted with pain. And then she had begun to talk in her sleep, a confused medley of words.

"I suppose she's delirious?" said the schoolmaster. But the woman had whispered to him that Rosa was having her visions again, and that if he would listen quietly, he would soon make sense out of what she was saying.

Mrs. Tiralla knelt down by the bedside, and resting her head on her hands which she had folded round those of the child, she began to pray in a soft voice.

All the man could see in the twilight had been that bent head, the silky smoothness of which seemed even silkier than usual in the dim light from the shaded lamp. He was seized with a mad desire to press his lips to that bowed neck which was so near him, to thrust both his hands in that beautiful, black hair. He could scarcely bear it any longer, his heart throbbed so tumultuously that he trembled. What did it matter to him that the servant was crouching at the end of the bed with her face buried in her knees? And the delirious child would be no hinderance to him either. Who could prevent him from stretching out his arms and drawing the kneeling woman to his side and closing her mouth with his kisses? Mr. Tiralla was not there; it was as though he would never return. And around them was darkness. And still he dared not do it. This woman--he groaned--ah, this woman could do anything she liked with him.

"Sh!" Mrs. Tiralla raised her head. "Sh! now, now! Do you hear?"

"Oh, my poor father!" sighed Rosa. It sounded as though she were going to cry; there was something unspeakably touching in her plaintive voice. "My poor father, what are they doing to you? You can't escape, alas, alas!"

The child's low voice shook with fear, and she threw herself about on the bed with a convulsive movement.

From what couldn't he escape? The schoolmaster knitted his brows, her words made a strange impression on him.

But Mrs. Tiralla leant over the bed so that the man could feel her breath on his cheek, and whispered in his ear, "Sh! be quiet!" Now she sees him being tormented in hell. She often sees him like that. "RÖschen, my darling," she whispered softly, bending over the child, "leave that wicked man in hell, don't be frightened. Don't you see the Holy Virgin this evening, and the dear Child Jesus on her lap? Oh, how sweetly she's smiling. Hark, doesn't she say something? Hail, Mary----"

"Thou Gracious Mother," the child struck in immediately, and her voice had lost its note of fear, "thou pure Mother, thou spotless Mother, thou wonderful Mother. Ah, I see her!" cried Rosa triumphantly, and her pale face flushed a rosy red. "Mother, Marianna, Mr. BÖhnke, pray that she may not turn away from us. Come, come!" She stretched out her hands as though she wanted to draw the three people around her bed still nearer. "Kneel down," she called out in a loud voice. "Oh, thou Lamb of God that takest away the sins of the world, spare us, good Lord----"

"Hear us, good Lord," droned Marianna. She had dragged herself nearer the bed, and now she hit her breast and bowed every time as she repeated, "Spare us, good Lord! Hear us, good Lord! Have pity on us, good Lord!"

Mrs. Tiralla and the schoolmaster exchanged a glance.

"The spirit has come over her," whispered the woman, and made the sign of the cross. "She will soon reveal a great deal to us."

The schoolmaster hastily pulled out his notebook with trembling hands. He felt somewhat embarrassed and whispered uneasily, "Marvellous, very marvellous!" He would have given much to be away from it all, but he couldn't go, it was too wonderful. He would have to write it all down so as to repeat it to the priest. What would he say to having a clairvoyante among his congregation? Holy Mother, only not that!

A sudden terror gripped him. He felt cold and hot by turns, and his hands trembled as he held the book and pencil. If she really could see into the future? Pshaw, she was nothing but a sickly, romantic, delirious child. And still--he could not help shuddering in the semi-darkness of that lonely little room, near the woman he coveted--and still his excited fancy at once gave shape to what Rosa's dreamy babbling had stirred up within him. The child was enraptured with the dear Virgin who smiles at the innocent, but he adorned her with all the voluptuous charms which she--his eyes glittered as they hung on the woman he coveted--she possessed.

It was midnight before Mrs. Tiralla and the schoolmaster returned to the sitting-room. The favoured child was sleeping soundly, there were no more marvellous utterances to listen to. The trance was now over, which had filled them all with such delight and during which Marianna had buried her face in her hands and groaned:

"How beautiful, how beautiful! I don't understand it; but oh, how beautiful!"

But the man was still in a state of great excitement. What else was there for him to do, now that Mr. Tiralla had really gone away, but clasp this smiling woman, whose eyes shone like candles, to his breast?

He approached her full of fierce desire. Now that the so ardently longed-for moment had arrived all the scruples which had hitherto deterred him had disappeared. Now, now!

He went up to her with outstretched arms, but she escaped from him as she so often had escaped from her husband, and ran behind the table. This was now between him and her. Her husband had always tried to catch her on these occasions, and had run after her round the big table like a boy playing at tig, but the schoolmaster did not do that. He did not move; he had suddenly grown very pale and his outstretched arms had sunk down. So she didn't want him to? It was a very keen disappointment.

What on earth was the schoolmaster dreaming of? Mrs. Tiralla almost flew into a passion. But then she noticed how dejected he looked, how his eyes avoided hers, and a sudden fear befell her. What if he were to be so angry with her now that he turned away from her, and she were to be as lonely as she had been before? Oh, only not that, she must have one helping hand. Wasn't he the helper, the friend whom the Holy Virgin had sent her? She daren't let him go away like that, she would have to grant him one favour, but only one. And she came from behind her bulwark; she had no fear, for she felt that she had this man entirely in her power. She went up to him, put her arms round his neck and kissed him quickly on the cheek.

"Go now," she whispered, "go! It's late--midnight--what will Marianna think? I shouldn't like people to talk about me. Go!"

She urged him to be gone and he obeyed her, for he had got a kiss, a kiss from her. He thirsted for another one, but wasn't this a beginning?

When Marianna lighted him to the road, he embraced her with such force that she let the lantern fall, she was so startled.

The sober man was quite changed. He stumbled across the fields as though he were intoxicated, and everything seemed to swim before his eyes. StarydwÓr lay behind him, StarydwÓr lay in front of him, StarydwÓr lay to the right, StarydwÓr lay to the left. StarydwÓr was everywhere.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

The schoolmaster seemed almost as intoxicated as Mr. Tiralla was, as he crossed the fields on his way home from the village some hours later. But he did not see StarydwÓr everywhere, as the other man had done, for it was quite impossible for him to find his own farm. It was as though it had disappeared from the globe, or as though he had nothing more to do there.

It happened now and then that Mr. Tiralla indulged in too much drink--now and then on special occasions such as the Sokol's entertainment, or lately the Gradewitz ball--who wouldn't have done that? But as a rule Mr. Tiralla was what you might call a sober man. The fact was that he could stand a great deal. But this evening he had drunk nothing but gin. He had felt so sad, oh, so sad; he didn't know himself why he had felt so sad. He had known for a long time that his Sophia was very irritable, so that couldn't have caused it; he had also known that his Rosa was a very pious child; really too pious, a remarkably pious child. But to-day there was something else, something that weighed him down to such a degree, that it had almost broken his heart. He had to drink in order to get rid of the weight that was oppressing him; drink until he was intoxicated. And he could only arrive at that state with the help of gin.

The acquaintances he had met at the inn had been very much surprised at his behaviour. Mr. Tiralla was so quiet; he didn't brag at all about his Sophia. It was as though he had been put to silence. The priest had said a few kind words to him about his daughter, when he came to the inn for a short time after his supper; she was an excellent child, a pure soul with whom God was well pleased. But Mr. Tiralla had only smiled feebly.

He had sat staring into his glass with both elbows on the table, and his red head buried in his hands, without saying a word. He had sat like that for hours.

One man after the other had said good night, first the priest, then the gendarme, then the forester, then Mr. Schmielke. Jokisch, as a good neighbour, had stopped the longest with Mr. Tiralla. He had plucked at his sleeve when the others had departed and had said in a confidential tone, "Listen, old fellow, I must tell you that the others are saying that BÖhnke, the schoolmaster, comes too often to see you--I mean to see your wife."

"He's been to see her this evening," said Mr. Tiralla, in a calm voice. And when the other man had stared at him in a disconcerted kind of way, he had continued in a voice that was still calmer, "You envious scoundrel, psia krew! Don't you know my Sophia? Do you think it's that what's oppressing me? Not that, oh God, not that!"

And he had given a loud sigh, and burying his head once more in his hands had said no more. Then Jokisch had said good night. They could very well have gone home together--their roads only parted at the Boza meka^[A] just before you come to the Przykop --but Mr. Tiralla's company wasn't amusing enough. By Jove, the old man seemed quite stupid.

Mr. Tiralla had remained sitting all alone. The landlord would have liked to extinguish the lights and go to bed; his wife, servant, and children had been asleep for a long time, everybody was asleep except Mr. Tiralla, who did not seem to think of going to bed. At last the landlord had fallen asleep behind the bar, and was only awakened by a dull sound. Mr. Tiralla had thrown the big, empty gin bottle at him, after helping himself to the very last drop.

Was Mr. Tiralla going home alone? How would Mr. Tiralla get home? The landlord was very anxious about him.

It was a night in early spring as Mr. Tiralla staggered home. A long time would elapse before the lilac-bushes near the dilapidated railings in the weed-grown herb garden would bloom; there was still no sign of buds on the trees, the plain was still bare and wintry-looking. But something was already moving deep down in the earth. The furrows, through which Mr. Tiralla tramped as he crossed the fields, were thawed, and lumps of soft earth clung to his boot-soles. He had lost his way; he could not get any further.

"Psia krew!" He stumbled, cursed, and scolded, and then he laughed. He felt that he had drunk too much--oho, he would never be so drunk that he couldn't feel what he had been up to. But to be a little drunk was a very useful thing now and then. For then you didn't feel the oppression quite so much.

CHAPTER VII

The strawberries were ripening in the Przykop. The children from Starawies would go there to look for them, and when they had all been gathered it would be the time for mushrooms. But the village children did not like the gloom that reigned in the Przykop, they were accustomed to let the rays of the burning sun scorch their brown bodies a still darker brown amid the flat turnip fields and immense plains covered with corn, where there were no shadows to arrest its full force.

The big pines commenced just at the back of StarydwÓr, and beyond those were the alders and willows, extending as far as the low-lying marshes, where the frogs croaked at night, the white water-lilies opened their golden calices at midday, and where towards evening the game from the royal forest in the blue distance beat a path through the rustling reeds on their way to quench their thirst at the pools. A long, long time ago the whole of the Przykop was said to have been an enormous lake, ten times as big as now. Now nothing remained of it but the basin in the centre, that deep depression which, so to speak, formed a hollow amid the yellow and green carpet of this fruitful corn-land. But at night, when the will-o'-the-wisps wandered about the marshes and danced on the duckweed, in which a man could be swallowed up if he did not take care where he put his foot, the pious people would make the sign of the cross when they were obliged to pass that way. For the will-o'-the-wisps were the souls of those who could not find peace in the grave.

Rosa Tiralla much preferred the Przykop to the bare fields. If she stood at the farm gate and looked across the fields she could see the whole way to Starawies, the path she took to school every day, the wooden church tower and the cottage roofs covered with moss, that almost disappeared from view behind the pale, waving corn when it stood high. But from her bedroom window at the back of the house, she could look into the Przykop, where the dark trees rustled so strangely.

The white-faced child felt the mystery of the morass just as much as the brown-skinned children from Starawies; but while it terrified them, it attracted her. How beautiful to be in the deep, cool shade when the sun was scorching outside. There was always a soft twilight under the trees, and when the light fell through the interlaced branches on the damp, green moss, it was no longer cruel, it was transfigured.

Even as a small child Rosa Tiralla had often been in the Przykop. Her nurse had always taken her there, for the wind, which swept across the plain endangering the life of the delicate child, was hardly felt there. The trees in the hollow were so well protected by the rising ground that only their tops rustled slightly in the wind. Rosa very often lifted the rusty latch of the gate that separated the morass from the little garden at the back of StarydwÓr. "How lovely the mountains and valleys of the Przykop were," thought the child of the plain. In her eyes the slight incline down which she used to glide was a deep, deep valley, and the hill she used to climb so laboriously, holding fast to the luxuriant moss, ferns, and projecting tree-roots, a big, big mountain.

The deer would approach Rosa without fear, and look at her with their limpid eyes. But she was full of fear; not of the deer, however, but of the other creatures which surrounded her in the Przykop. The older she grew, the more fearful she became. Marianna had told her too many tales about them. The deep, deep silence, in which the woodpecker's hammering on the bark used to sound like peals of thunder, made her shudder. And still she would not have liked to give up that sweet emotion, nor give up lying in the thick moss, gazing up into the tree-tops to find a bit of sky. She was always within call, and that reassured her. But if a sound found its way to her--her father's deep, bass voice, or her mother's treble, or the maid's "Psia krew, where have you got to?"--she would give a start as though she had been roughly handled or had been caught doing something wrong, and turn scarlet and sigh as she smoothed her thick, tousled hair.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

Rosa Tiralla was very busy looking for mushrooms in the Przykop this summer. It was the time of the damp, sultry dog-days, in which they sprang up in a night. But not many were eaten in Starawies or the neighbourhood, for the public had been warned against them. The schoolmaster had also warned the children in the school; they were neither to gather nor eat any they were not quite sure of. People grew alarmed.

"Many people have made themselves ill with eating mushrooms," said Marianna to her mistress, when the latter spoke of sending Rosa to fetch some.

Mrs. Tiralla laughed. "Nonsense, I know mushrooms very well."

"That makes no difference," exclaimed the maid, growing warm, "I won't eat them even if I do know them. Ugh!" she spat on the ground, "mushrooms are the devil's own vegetables."

"Why?" The woman looked at the maid with dull, wide-open eyes, in which a dawning light suddenly began to gleam. She turned red and pale by turns, blinked her eyes a little as though something were dazzling her, and then smiled. "What do you mean by 'the devil's own vegetables'? I don't understand you."

Marianna made the sign of the cross. "God bless it! But I don't know if even that always helps. Many a one has got his death from eating a dish of mushrooms. Who can say which are poisonous and which are not? Good and bad ones grow side by side; the devil passes his finger over them during the night, and in the morning they all look alike, you can't see any difference. You gather, you cook, you eat--oh!" Marianna stretched out her fingers and rolled her eyes. "Holy Mother. I know how awfully you suffer. I won't eat mushrooms, I know that." She shuddered.

"Well, you needn't eat any, nobody has asked you to," said the woman, soothingly, to the girl, who grew more and more vehement. "You hadn't eaten mushrooms that time you fell ill. Oh, we know all about it," she said jestingly, shaking her finger at her. But it was no real jest, for all merriment was wanting, and there was something forced in her laugh as she added, "Jendrek has let it out; you had drunk too much, and that was why you were ill."

"Oh, the rogue, the scoundrel," cried Marianna furiously, clenching her fist. "How can he say so? The liar! I hadn't drunk too much; I had drunk nothing, I remember it well. It was the day after the master had been to Gnesen to fetch the rat poison. I had drunk nothing that morning but a sip of coffee, a sip of the coffee I was taking to the master. I can swear to that."

The maid cast an inquisitive, scrutinizing glance at her mistress. Would she turn red, or pale? Now it was out; what had been the matter with that coffee? Would she be brazen-faced enough to scold her because she had drunk some of the master's coffee? Well, then, she would just give her a piece of her mind, she would let her know that there had been poison in it.

Mrs. Tiralla, however, took no notice of what had been said.

Marianna kept her eyes fixed on her mistress. Who could say what the Pani was thinking of now? But no deeper colour came into Mrs. Tiralla's face. The maid felt quite bewildered. What! the Pani remained so calm, she neither looked terrified nor changed colour? Why, she was even smiling like an angel from heaven. She would have to get to the bottom of this. So she quickly said in a bold, resolute voice:

"I had only drunk some of the coffee which the Pani herself had made; I can't imagine how that could have made me so ill." She shrugged her shoulders and put on her most stupid and innocent look, whilst her sly eyes roved about. "The Pani would surely not cook anything bad for the master."

"No, certainly not," answered Mrs. Tiralla, quite calmly, although her heart almost stood still with terror. No fear must be shown now, not an eyelid must quiver. Ah, she had learnt to dissemble more easily now. The woman was filled with an almost fierce, triumphant joy, which gave a natural cheerfulness to her voice as she added, "He's such a judge of good living, he'll have nothing but what's good." And then she said in a friendly tone, as though she had quite forgotten Marianna's pointed words and the coffee she had taken, "Jendrek must have told a lie, then. Here." She put her hand into the little bag that hung on her belt near her keys, and brought out a new shilling. "Here, Marianna. I'm sorry that I've wronged you so long in my thoughts."

The servant forgot to thank her mistress, but stared at her completely bewildered as she left the kitchen. Oh, she--she was really--she, she--had she really put nothing into the coffee? Marianna felt she was too stupid, her head ached with all the thinking; it would be better to leave it alone. The Pani had given her a new shilling bit, the Pani was good. She was happy now.

Mrs. Tiralla stood outside the door and called for her daughter, and when Rosa obediently came she gave her a basket and put on her broad-brimmed straw hat with her own hands, "There, my darling," and told her to go and look for mushrooms for her father's supper.

Many different kinds of mushrooms were to be found in the Przykop--yellow, red, brown, orange-coloured, and greenish. When Rosa had gone out the first time to find some she had felt very anxious. There was a dark brown one growing under a pine tree, big and firm, with a strong smell and very appetizing in appearance. But she had eyed it very uncertainly. Was that the devil's toadstool, which the schoolmaster had marked on the board at school as poisonous, or was it one of the dainty boleti edules, which her father liked so much? Oh, dear, she had not listened very attentively; Mr. BÖhnke had given them all the characteristics, but she had been dreaming as usual. Her thoughts had flown away into infinite space, away over the board which Mr. BÖhnke was holding before them. He used to be very annoyed with the other children if they were not attending, but he was never annoyed with her, for she was Rosa Tiralla. Oh, if only he had been. She did not know what to do. She hesitated doubtfully; should she take the mushroom or not? There were many of the same kind growing in the moss; they seemed to smile at her.

A wood-pigeon was cooing over the lonely girl's head. It had fluttered down from the high pine treetop and was now sitting on one of the thick bottom branches watching her. It cooed and cooed. Then Rosa at last felt certain that the bird wanted to warn her. It was a messenger from the Holy Virgin; these mushrooms were all poisonous. And the girl lifted up her dress, so that not even the hem of it should touch them, and stepped over them with anxious haste.

So Rosa came home the first time without any mushrooms. "Mother, I didn't know which were poisonous and which were not. I was afraid, so I left them all." Then Mrs. Tiralla had been more angry with her daughter than she had ever been before, and had pulled her plaits and called her a stupid goose. All the mushrooms growing in the Przykop were fit to eat; there was not a single poisonous one among them.

"But Mr. BÖhnke says, and Marianna says--oh, mammie, I'm so afraid of poisonous mushrooms. How awful it would be if anybody ate one."

"You're very stupid," said her mother, but in a gentler tone. "Next time I'll go with you and show you those you are to gather. Don't cry." And she stroked the hair which she had pulled a short time before.

Then Rosa felt pleased that her mother was no longer angry with her, and would teach her to find the right mushrooms.

The golden sun was smiling down on the moss, and everything was bright and cheerful even in the Przykop when Mrs. Tiralla went with Rosa to gather mushrooms.

"Look here, RÖschen, this one. And here, this one." She pointed to different places in the moss with her foot and told the child to gather.

"But aren't those poisonous, mammie? Marianna says----"

"Fiddle-de-dee. What does Marianna know about it? She's more stupid than I took her to be; she a country girl and doesn't even know mushrooms? Pick them, pick them. They're good. They're your father's favourite dish when they're fried in butter and then stewed in cream."

So Rosa knelt down quickly and was soon busy gathering the red mushrooms that had an orange tinge and little white knobs on their caps as though they had been embroidered; such bright looking mushrooms they were, the prettiest of them all. And then she gathered some of the brown ones as well, which she had avoided so carefully the first time, and her basket was soon full.

"Now we've got enough," said Mrs. Tiralla. "Now you can't make a mistake, and you'll know where to find them. Next time you can go alone."

"Oh, yes, of course I know now. But it's nice to go to the wood with you," said the child ingratiatingly, hanging on her mother's arm.

She was almost as tall as her mother now, their shoulders were on the same level; they could have been taken for sisters. The black-haired woman with her velvety, sparkling eyes was certainly more beautiful, but there was such a gentle, happy expression on the girl's face that made one forgetful of her freckles and her pale blue eyes.

"How father will feast," said Rosa, and pressed her mother's arm. "Shall you prepare them for him this evening?"

"I shall prepare them for him this evening," repeated the woman absent-mindedly. Her thoughts were already far ahead. Would he suffer when he had eaten them, as Marianna had said? She trembled. But there must be no compassion. Had she not suffered, suffered agonies from the very first hour he had come to her mother's sewing-room and had stretched out his coarse fingers to take her? She did not like him, no, she had never liked him. And she disliked him more than ever since he had begun to drink, since he had returned one evening from the inn dead drunk; and now he often came home so intoxicated that Marianna and Jendrek had to take him under the arms and drag him into the house. If he ate some of the mushrooms, and the Holy Virgin would stand by him, he would close his eyes immediately afterwards. That would be the best thing for him. Had he not said the last time he was drunk and was crying so bitterly, "I don't suit this place. When my Sophia is a widow, will she love me more than she does now?" Yes, she would. He was quite right, and he had felt it dully in his intoxication. A monument should be erected to his memory, as beautiful a cross as could be ordered in Gradewitz, or even in Gnesen. If only he would depart, it only he would depart and leave her in peace.

The woman's feelings towards her husband became almost tender. She would make the mushrooms very nice, and neither spare the butter nor the cream.

They should taste very, very good.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

As mother and daughter left the Przykop they saw Mr. Tiralla standing at the garden gate looking out for them. He was longing for his supper, for which he felt an aching void. But there was another kind of void which tortured him still more. Now Sophia had even taken the child away with her. It was fortunate that Mikolai was coming home in the autumn, then he would have more company. Mr. Tiralla had never liked being alone, and now he liked it less than ever. There was an indefinite something that frightened him; he could not have said what it was, but it seemed to be lying in wait for him at every corner.

He called out to the two in a joyful voice. He was holding up his hand to his eyes in order to protect them from the sun that was setting blood-red behind the pines, and the two figures in their light-coloured dresses looked like angels of light. "Psia krew, why so late? Come, my dears, come along."

Rosa let her mother's arm go. Swinging her basket in the air she ran up to her father, "Mushrooms, mushrooms." She was glowing with happiness.

He stroked her flying hair away from her face and patted her cheeks. "My darling, my consolation."

Why did her father look so serious? He was low-spirited. Rosa gazed at him with womanly, anxious eyes that love had sharpened. Her daddy was growing old. What a lot of lines he had in his face, lots of crooked lines like those the crows made in the snow with their feet. And still he was so stout, and had such a good appetite. "Do you love me?" she asked affectionately, raising her face for him to kiss. "I love you."

He did not kiss her; he was looking at his wife, who was coming on more slowly.

It seemed to Mrs. Tiralla as though her foot faltered, as though a leaden weight were almost paralyzing her. There he stood waiting impatiently. Well, he should have them. She ran past him with a muttered "God be with me!"

Nobody was in the kitchen. What had become of that slow hussy Marianna? But never mind, she could not have done with her to-day. She put wood and peat on the fire with her own hands, so that the embers were soon ablaze, placed a pan on the fire, and fetched butter and cream from the larder. She was very busy.

At that moment Rosa came running in. "Mother, daddy asks if the mushrooms are really good?"

"Why, of course," said Mrs. Tiralla, and pushed her daughter impatiently out of the kitchen. She could not have her looking on. Then she cut the mushrooms to pieces and threw them into the pan and poured boiling water on them; they were to boil for some time, bad and good all together, so that they might lose their shape and colour and all resemble each other so much that they could not be distinguished. Nobody should say of her that she had set poisonous mushrooms before her husband; besides, he would not have eaten them.

The water bubbled and hissed on the stove; it was boiling fiercely, as she had made a huge fire. The food must be cooked quickly, Mr. Tiralla was longing for his supper.

Just then he stuck his head into the kitchen. "Will there soon be something to eat, Sophia?"

"There'll soon be something to eat." She put some more wood on the fire; the mushrooms were already getting tender. The pan was filled with a slimy sauce that had a very powerful smell. She bent over it and sniffed. Good gracious, the smell was so pungent that it would betray her! Away with it! She quickly poured the sauce and scum off to the very last drop, took another pan, melted some more butter in it, and then put the mushrooms into it. The horrid odour had disappeared, now they smelt delicious.

While the mushrooms were frying in the butter, Mrs. Tiralla stood by with folded hands. "Holy Mother, I call on thee, do not forsake me, pray for me." (Oh, if--it only these mushrooms were cooked, he would eat them, and then?) "Jesus Christ, hear us, now and in the hour of our death." (If--if he ate some, then--then?) "Son of God, we commend this soul to thee, have mercy on it." (Oh, when he had eaten?) No, she could not pray any longer, all she could do was to whisper just above her breath, "Jesus, Mary, Joseph, assist this soul in its death-agony."

Marianna came into the kitchen. Dear, dear, was the mistress already cooking? Bustling about in her haste to get on, the girl knocked the plates together. Oh, how the Pani would scold. She ducked her head involuntarily.

But the Pani was looking straight into the glowing fire. Then suddenly awaking as from a dream she seized the pan containing the cream, poured its contents over the dish of mushrooms, shook it, and told the maid to carry it into the room.

As Marianna placed the dish on the table at which the man, woman, and child were already seated, Mrs. Tiralla turned deadly pale. She gave a start as her husband began at once to help himself; it seemed as though she were about to grip his arm.

"God bless it!" said the maid, in a loud voice, and then, turning round, she furtively made the sign of the cross and spat three times. Ugh, mushrooms! She shuddered. And how strange the mistress was; she must also be afraid, her face was so pale. Marianna ran out of the room, she felt all at once so frightened. How could anybody eat mushrooms? Ugh! She again felt the horrible, choking sensation which had oppressed her heart and numbed her limbs the time she was so ill. She could not fight against it. She crouched near the fire and folded her hands, she was so terribly frightened. But one thing she did know, and that was as soon as she could she would go to the priest--no, rather to the gendarme. But then she rejected the idea of the gendarme, for would he believe her? But if she could swear to it by all the saints? But she could not swear to it, not exactly swear to it. However, she would tell the priest about it. What a house this was! How dreadful it was for a poor servant girl like her to have to serve in such a place. She wept bitterly.

However, when Jendrek knocked at the kitchen door a moment later for her to come out, she ran behind the stable to him and forgot her master and the mushrooms.

Mrs. Tiralla noted with horror with what relish her husband was eating the mushrooms. She felt quite numbed, she could not move. But when Rosa asked for some, too--they smelt so good, she had taken a fancy to them--she screamed, "They're too indigestible for you. I shall not eat any either. We can't touch them."

So Mr. Tiralla finished them all. "I've not tasted anything I liked do well for a long time," he said with a fat smile as he stroked his paunch. "That's because my little daughter has gathered them for me and my dear wife has cooked them. Thanks, both of you." He nodded to his daughter and took hold of his wife's hand and kissed it.

He was remarkably gentle, so strangely tender. His wife felt startled, his voice already sounded quite different. She watched him with anxious eyes--he had asked for a glass of gin after the rich food--did he feel ill already? She could scarcely keep her feet quiet under the table. Away, away, oh, how she would have liked to run away; she did not want to look on any longer.

"Give me a kiss, Sophia darling," begged her husband.

She humoured him. It would be the last, why should she refuse him the last kiss?

He drew her on his knee. Then he sent Rosa out of the room; she was to go to bed so that she could get up next morning and fetch lots of mushrooms. "Go, go, I say," he urged, as she clung to him tenderly. However much he loved her, he had only thoughts for his Sophia at present. She was so good, so affectionate to-day; oh, God, were the good times returning?

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

Marianna was in her first deep sleep that night when she heard her master's door creak. Suddenly everything came back to her. Holy Mother, the mushrooms. Did he feel very bad? The poor master! She jumped out of bed as quick as lightning and rushed to the door. But when she tore it open, she saw that it was only her mistress who had just carefully closed the master's door opposite and was standing outside. What had she been up to in that room? The maid almost screamed, she was so surprised.

Mrs. Tiralla looked frightened when she caught sight of the maid, and they stared at each other for some moments. Then the woman put her finger to her lips, "Sh! I--I--couldn't sleep upstairs--I heard something--and I thought of thieves--yes, thieves--and then I ran down."

"Oh, there are no thieves here." The maid gave a loud laugh, it sounded too ridiculous that the Pani, who had never been afraid of thieves, should suddenly speak of them. Surely she had not come down on account of them? But why? It had never occurred to her to creep down to Mr. Tiralla before? Marianna's eyes grew very big. But then she suddenly thought, she has wanted to see how he feels after the food, for he ate every bit of it, the poor man. Marianna sighed. Then she cast an insolent glance at her mistress and said:

"Well, and how's the master? I suppose he's not very well, eh?"

"Why, why?" asked the woman, trembling. But then she grew calm, the girl's impertinent glances helped her to regain her composure. "I don't know what you mean," she said in a lofty tone. "Mr. Tiralla is sleeping quietly." With a slight nod she turned away and crept so softly up to her room that not a stair creaked.

Driven by curiosity Marianna put her head into her master's room. All was dark; she could see nothing, but she heard him breathing regularly and deeply. He did not even groan, he was sleeping so quietly. Was he still alive? She groped her way to the bed. Thank God, there he lay warm and comfortable.

As she bent over him he stretched out his arms and stammered, half asleep, "Heigh, darling!"

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

Mrs. Tiralla was standing before her glass upstairs looking at her pale, disfigured face. She felt overcome with shame, a shame that was even greater than her terror. What must the maid have thought of her? Dark lines under her eyes, her hair dishevelled, her face all mottled. Oh, God! She had submitted to it all--and he was still alive. She was seized with a violent fit of fury, she would have liked to destroy everything, smash everything to pieces. Pressing her clenched fists against her forehead she uttered a deep groan. She was the one who had been deceived, she always was. BÖhnke, too, had deceived her. Had he not told her that fly agarics--the orange-red mushrooms with white warts--were very poisonous, and that the devil's toadstool--the brown, squat one which so strongly resembled the boletus edulis--was even more so? He had brought a book with him, and had read it to her secretly in the little garden with the palings all round, where they had stolen like a pair of lovers who want to be as far away from everybody as possible. He had also shown her the illustrations, and she had watched most carefully as he pointed out what the poisonous mushrooms looked like. She had impressed it firmly on her memory. Four fly agarics were enough to bring death, people said, but he--he lived. But had she not also read in the schoolmaster's book that "death can either occur in the course of an hour or two, or after two or three days"? H'm, Mr. Tiralla was very strong, what would kill any other man scarcely affected him. She would have to wait then, wait.

She threw herself on her knees. If only he had died at once, this waiting was so awful. She dreaded the thought of what the morrow might bring forth. She had been calm enough while cooking the mushrooms, but now she was the reverse. She could hardly bear to wait any longer. But now it was no longer a great longing for his death, which was to bring her release, it was only a fervent desire to be free from this great fear which oppressed her heart and confused her senses. She sprang up from her knees as though she were out of her mind, then threw herself down again, the next moment to jump up once more and raise her clasped hands to heaven. "Mary, Holy Virgin, pray for me!" What was the Holy Virgin to pray for? Oh, she knew what for; knew better than she did herself, for she did not know any longer. Life? Death? Alas, alas, now she would have preferred him to live; only not to see him lying there distorted with convulsions, and with the hue of death already on his face.

The woman crept into the darkest corner of the room like a frightened animal, and bit her hands, which she had pressed against her mouth, and wept and trembled. How slowly the night crept on, would it never, never be day? How quietly Rosa was breathing. She was sleeping so well. Oh, to be a child once more, an innocent child who knows nothing of Life's wickedness.

Mrs. Tiralla was filled with an intense longing for innocence and purity, for a blameless, peaceful life. She would go to confession as soon as possible next morning. She would confess everything, so that she could breathe once more as quietly as her child. Even at the last examination of conscience she had not been able to find the right expression for what was stirring in her heart. But now, when the sins against the fifth commandment were being enumerated: "Have you by means of blows, curses, and such-like injured yourself or others, are you angry, envious, revengeful, have you lived in hatred and enmity with others, have you grieved others by bitter words, have you hurt them intentionally?" now she would strike her breast and cry, "Yes, yes," so that she might say later on, "I thank Thee, Divine Redeemer, that Thou hast given me absolution and forgiveness for my sins in the Sacrament of Penance."

Then she grew more composed; the mere thought of confession calmed and relieved her immeasurably. She recovered so far as to creep out of her corner and go to Rosa's bed, although she was still trembling, and wake her. "Let us pray, dear," she said, clasping her hands round those of the child.

"What shall we pray?" inquired Rosa, who was always ready to pray and was instantly wide awake.

"Repeat the Act of Desire used at the preparation for Holy Communion."

"Oh, mother, I don't know it." Rosa bent her head in deep shame.

"But I do," said Mrs. Tiralla. "Lord, my soul is longing for Thee. Let me again to-day partake of Thy saving grace. Thou knowest my misery, come. Thou who hast redeemed me by Thy blood, O Son of God. When Thy holy body, O most sweet Jesus, unites itself with my body, and Thy holy soul has poured itself into my soul, oh, what a new, happy life I shall lead. Be gracious to us. Hear us."

She repeated it in a loud voice, and the child raised her hands devoutly and with a pious shudder murmured it after her mother.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

When Mrs. Tiralla came down next morning it was late. She had at last fallen asleep whilst kneeling by Rosa's bedside, so that she did not see the sunbeam dancing on the wall, nor hear the cock crowing, the clatter of the milk pails, the squeaking of the chain in the old well, nor the lowing of the cattle. She had fallen into a dead sleep. And when she at last started up in confusion, awakened by Rosa's caressing touch, she did not venture to go downstairs. She sent the child. "Look if he's up."

But Rosa did not return. Why did she not come? Mrs. Tiralla waited and waited; the minutes seemed to lengthen themselves into hours. Holy Mother, what had happened downstairs, as the child did not return? Courage, courage, courage! She pressed both hands to her heart that was throbbing furiously. If only she had never come to StarydwÓr, if only she had remained the poorest among the poor, the most wretched among the wretched.

She listened involuntarily. Hark, was that not his voice? No, neither scream nor groan reached her ear. There was no help for it, she would have to go downstairs. It would seem so strange if she were to remain in her room any longer; she would have to go down at once.

She drew a deep breath, tore the door open, took a run and rushed downstairs. Where was he lying? Where should she find him?

"Good morning," said Mr. Tiralla. He was in a good humour and was just coming out of his room. His eyes were still full of sleep and he was rubbing them.

But his eyes were quite clear, they still saw the light of day. The woman started back as though she had seen a ghost.

"Why are you so frightened, eh?" he cried, laughing. "You've slept too long, I suppose? Ha, ha."

She did not answer. Even if her life had depended upon it, she could not have uttered a single word. It was too terrible, too terrible!

He did not pay any attention to her silence nor to her disturbed looks. He was in a very happy frame of mind and was waving a letter in his hand, a letter from his soldier son.

Mikolai had not written for a long time, he did not care for writing. But now he wrote:

"Dear Parents,--Your son, Mikolai, sends you his love, and he is very well. I can tell you I am pleased to get away from the army. It is not the work for me, I prefer to till the ground. And my friend, Martin Becker, who is a miller by profession, but has not got a mill at present, because, although he has some money, it is not enough to buy a big mill, and he won't have a small one, will come home with me. He will help to manage the farm. Dear father, you will not want so many hands then; we will do everything, and you will like Martin. He has no parents, and hails from Klein-Hauland, near Opalenitza. I will let you know the day we are coming. Dear mother, if you will be kind to Becker I shall be grateful to you, for he is a good fellow. Dear sister, I kiss you in my thoughts; our Rosa has, no doubt, grown into a pretty girl. We shall come, all being well, in seven weeks' time. With a kiss to you all,

"Your affectionate Son."

That was his son, just as he was in reality, his dear, good son. A sudden affection for the boy who had been away from home so long awoke in Mr. Tiralla's heart. It was such a long time since he had seen anything of him. He had been away almost three years, and although he had twice driven to Breslau during that time and had looked him up at the barracks, still it was very different from having him at home. It was a good thing that the boy was coming.

It seemed to Mr. Tiralla as though he had been thinking of his Mikolai the whole time he had been away; but that had not been the case. How could he have had leisure to think of him? All, all his thoughts had been taken up with his Sophia. But now he was filled with an impatient longing for his son; he could hardly await the time when the reserves would be dismissed. If only he were at home. The evenings were already growing long; there were no more beautiful summer evenings, for the weather had turned cool and dreary unusually early. Such evenings were very dismal in StarydwÓr if you had nobody to sit and talk to.

Mrs. Tiralla was ill, and her strange behaviour had made her husband quite ill, too. His Sophia! What was the matter with her? Was she angry with him? He ransacked his brain to find out what he had done to her, but he found nothing. He had done his utmost to put her into a good humour. He had driven to Rosenthal's in Gnesen and bought her a smart black-and-white check coat and skirt. It suited her admirably, and when she had it on she looked like a fine lady going on her travels. But all he could get from her was a feeble, "I should have preferred a black costume." Then he had driven to Gnesen and ordered her a black costume, and as that had not turned out satisfactory, he had even gone to Posen about it. But when he had brought it home--it had been nice and dear--she had only said, "But I can't wear it after all." The deuce, why not? The truth was, he never could do anything to please her. That made him very low-spirited. Why was she so perverse? Why did she look at him so strangely?

He had caught one of those rare glances she vouchsafed him, and it had bewildered him. He had asked Marianna if she knew why her mistress was in such a bad humour, and why she frowned so.

"Let the wicked look fall on the dog," whispered Marianna, and spat on the ground whilst she made the sign of the cross. She would take good care not to mention her suspicions to her master. If she said to him, "That woman is up to something," he would turn her out of the house as a reward. He was still so wrapped up in the woman. And she really did not know herself what the Pani was up to. The mushrooms had agreed with the master all right; he had not been ill after them. She had had nothing to confide to the priest. And even if she had had something to tell him about the Pani, he would never have believed a particle of it, he was so attached to her. She, Marianna, had even had to acknowledge her own sinful thoughts when she had gone to confession. When the priest had asked her, "Do you nourish wicked or suspicious thoughts against anybody in your heart?" she had had to confess that she did, and he had seriously exhorted her not to transgress against the eighth commandment.

So Marianna shrugged her shoulders when Mr. Tiralla stood before her with a perplexed look on his face, and gave him an evasive answer. How horrid his Sophia had been to him again, he complained. He had hardly been into her room--she had established herself in the little room upstairs now and rarely came down--and then merely to ask how she was. He had only ventured to take hold of her hand and ask her if she were feverish, as her eyes burned so, and she had flung his hand away as if he were some unclean animal, and had wept, and wept, until he had grown quite uneasy.

"I don't know," said Marianna. "Pani must be ill, I suppose; you had better ask the doctor." She really felt very grieved about the poor master. And who knows, if he were to die now, perhaps he would bequeath her something, so that she and her little children could have enough to live on, or at least give her such a good dowry that Jendrek or another would make her his kobieta^[A]? So she was very obliging, and was always finding something to do for her master. She would come at least ten times into the room, when he sat alone with his bottle--poor master to have to sit quite alone and drink like that!

Mr. Tiralla did not go to the inn any more, he shunned all those inquisitive eyes. Everybody used to ask him about his wife when he went there, and he confessed to the maid with a sigh that he could no longer boast about her, for when he did he felt as if he were going to choke, and he could not utter a single word.

Mrs. Tiralla often heard her husband and the maid laughing together as she sat in her room upstairs; and drinking as well, for she could hear them draw four or five corks every evening. Ugh! how he could drink! The woman shuddered with disgust. There was that monster sitting with the vulgar hussy, cracking jokes that were anything but refined, and drinking hard. How could he forget himself like that! How could he intoxicate himself to that degree! Beer alone could not do it, it must be Tokay as well. But wait, was it not a good thing that he drank so much? What would otherwise have happened to her? He would have worried her continually. If she could not be released from him altogether, in this way she could at least reckon on some hours' freedom. And after such nights he used to sleep until morning without waking. Oh, if only he were always, always drunk!

Mrs. Tiralla lay in bed listening to the sounds downstairs, with her nerves on edge. Now the jokes must have become very practical, for the girl was screaming with laughter, and it sounded as if he were choking. And now--she heard it quite plainly, although not a single word reached her ears--now he was babbling some absurd nonsense, at which the girl was almost suffocated with laughter, until he at last grew silent, and letting his head sink on the table fell asleep.

Now he was happy; he was dreaming blissfully. Oh, it could not be so bad when you got to the stage of neither knowing nor feeling anything of it all. She really did not wish him ill--Mrs. Tiralla was almost praising herself--when she wished for his sake that he were always so drunk. What good did he get out of life? He had no sense for higher things, and he did not derive any pleasure from her. He really did not, she must be just. But how could she give others any pleasure if she were not happy herself?--for he was there, still there.

She clenched her fists and bit her lips so as not to lament aloud. Nothing, nothing had helped her, neither the mushrooms, nor throwing him into the ditch, nor the rat poison. She had not cooked any more mushrooms for him, although he had often asked for some. "Gather them yourself," she had answered curtly, and had not allowed Rosa to fetch any more. There was no object in doing so. And throwing him into the ditch? Bah! Her upper lip curled contemptuously at the thought of her own childish stupidity. A ditch was nothing to Mr. Tiralla; he was able to get out of a much deeper pit. But rat poison! What about that poison still lying in her chest in the lumber-room? A great longing for it took possession of her. There was release, it lay in her hands, and still she did not venture to make use of it. Would he also be guarded against that poison, which was said to be strong? Or was it after all not strong enough to kill people? If only she could find out exactly. Who could give her the most reliable information? BÖhnke? Oh, that liar! Her whole body shook, she sobbed so tempestuously. He had deceived her. He had pretended to teach her which were poisonous mushrooms, and he had not done so. The wretch! Let him never appear before her eyes again.

Mrs. Tiralla felt furious when she thought of her slave. Had he not sworn that he was devoted to her, first mutely and then in words? On Easter Sunday after their festive meal, when Mr. Tiralla had fallen asleep, surfeited with all the usual rich dishes, and Rosa had gone to the village church with Marianna, he had besought her on his knees, and she, with a look at the sleeper, had hastily whispered to him, "If I were free." Then he had sworn to her with the most solemn oaths that she should be free, that she must be free. And now? Oh, the coward! The whole summer had passed by; the swallows had departed long ago, but the son was flying back to the paternal nest and was bringing somebody else with him; four more eyes to pry on her.

She was tormented with a great fear when she thought of Mikolai's return. He had keen eyes, he was not stupid. He was certainly not like Rosa, who had only one foot on earth, and who used to dream with open eyes, and believed implicitly what was told her. If anything were to happen, it must happen before Mikolai returned to his father.

Mrs. Tiralla made up her mind to get out of bed; nobody would see or hear her now. She had sent Rosa to another room, she could not bear to have anybody with her. Now the child slept in a room on the other side of the passage that had stood empty; and Marianna would sleep with her when the room downstairs was to be used for the two men; that is, if Mr. Tiralla's were not at liberty by that time.

She hastily stuck her feet out of bed. She would slip over to the lumber-room now and fetch it out of the chest. She would not let Marianna take it to him any more, she would give it to him herself tomorrow, either in his coffee or wine.

She put her feet on the floor with a jerk. But all at once she felt she could not walk; her limbs refused to move. She felt as weak as the first time she got up after Rosa's birth. She began to tremble and perspire, to sigh and pray, but no angel restored her strength.

Then at last she perceived that the saints did not will it at present, that the right hour had not yet come. So she crept back into bed and drew the feather bed over her head. She lay under all the feathers, and still she felt icy cold, and unutterably miserable and wretched. Downstairs her husband was carousing with the woman, but she was as though tied hand and foot. She thought she was dying. She gnashed her teeth and clenched her hands; she could not move a limb, but her thoughts flew with lightning rapidity. It was fury, pain, and disappointed hopes that made her feel so ill, that were consuming her life. She was going to die; alas, die, before she had lived, before she had even lived one year in the way she wanted to live.