And so this went on unceasingly, one impression after another … and a third … and a fourth … and so on, beyond counting: she could in no wise either get rid of these fancies of hers or control them. A nightmare had her in its clutches; or … was it Satan preparing her to sin by tempting her thus?
It was broad day when she got out of bed, and she felt as though she had spent the night on a rack. Every bone in her ached; she was pale, worn out, unspeakably miserable.
The frost had slackened a little, but the weather was dull. Now and again it snowed; and then a great wind would spring up, worry the trees, and go whistling down the road. The village, however, was lively and full of the gladness of Yuletide, and the roads swarmed with folk. Some were dashing by in sledges; some talked outside their huts or went visiting their neighbours; and the children played about in the lanes, and there was everywhere noise and merriment in plenty.
But of merriment there was little in Yagna’s heart. For all the joyous flickering of the fire on the hearth, she felt cold: moody in spite of all the mirth and din around her, and the gay songs of Yuzka, ringing through the cabin. Though amongst her own people, she was alone—so terribly alone that she was afraid to look upon them.
And frequently, whilst letting her fancy listen to Antek’s passionate whispers, she could not help hearing at the same time certain other words that went to her soul with no less force:
“To all such God’s wrath is reserved, and everlasting damnation!”—She could distinctly hear the priest’s voice, and see his glowing face, and his hand stretched out in a threatening gesture.
She quailed at the vision, feeling acutely the depth of her guilt.—“Then I will not go, I will not! It were a mortal sin, a mortal sin!” she repeated to herself, striving to find in these words the strength to resist and a shield against evil. But then her soul revolted with the pain of it; for indeed she was attracted to him with all the might and bent of her vital forces, and turned towards him as a snow-burdened tree turns towards the sun in spring.
But the fear of sin had still the upper hand, and she did her best to forget him—forget him forever! … She now stayed at home, fearing to go anywhere about the premises, lest he might be lurking about and call to her. … For would she then be able to resist, and not to follow his voice?
She set about diligently to perform her home duties; but there was little to be done. Yuzka managed all; besides, the old man was always after her, unwilling to have her put her hand to anything.
“Rest yourself; do not work too much, lest some untimely harm come upon you!”
So she did nothing, and only wandered aimlessly about the cabin, or looked out of the windows—at nothing—or stood idle in the passage. Meanwhile her longing and her desire increased continually; and her irritation as well. She was angered by her husband’s watchful eyes, angered by the joy and liveliness that filled the place; angered even by Bociek the stork, walking about the hut, and flapped her apron to drive it away. At last, when she could bear things no longer, she chose a convenient opportunity, and ran over to her mother’s hut. But she went there straight across the pond, looking round in fear, lest he should be lurking somewhere behind a tree.
Her mother was not at home; she had only looked in early in the day, and then returned to attend the Voyt’s wife. Andrew sat smoking by the fireside, while Simon dressed himself in the bedroom.
Back in her old place, amongst her own furniture and surroundings, a change came over her and her irritation disappeared. She was once more in her element, and began instinctively to move about and do things: going to the cow-house, straining out the milk which had since the morning been standing in the pail, throwing corn to the fowls, sweeping the room, setting things in order, and meantime keeping up a brisk conversation with her two brothers; for Simon, having put on a new capote, had now come in, and was doing his hair before the looking-glass.
“So carefully dressed?—Whither away?”
“To the village, to meet a few lads at the Ploshkas’.”
“And … will mother let you go?”
“I shall not everlastingly ask her leave: my reason is my own; so is my will.”
“Surely, surely,” Andrew chimed in timorously, looking out into the road.
“You are to know,” the other cried with a bold air, “that what I do, I will do in spite of her. To the Ploshkas’, aye, and to the tavern as well, will I go, and drink with the other lad.”
“ ‘A calf wants but its mother’s teat, yet wanders everywhere for it. So with the fool, whose will’s his rule,’ ” she murmured to herself, not caring to contradict him, nor indeed paying much heed to what he said. She was to return home now, and had so small a mind to do so, that it was almost with tears that she took leave of them, and dragged herself slowly away.
At her cabin, it was still noisier and merrier than before. Nastka had run in, and was laughing so gaily with Yuzka that Yagna could hear them out in the road.
“Do you know? my rod has blossomed!” she cried to Yagna as the latter entered.
“Your rod? what rod?”
“The one I cut on St. Andrew’s night, planted in sand upon the stove—and behold, it has blossomed! I looked at it yesterday, and there was not a single blossom yet.”
She brought the pot of sand to show her; there stood in it a
