“What, does the silly woman think to daunt me by glaring?” was Yagna’s mental comment as she walked home.
Evening had fallen now—quiet, dull, holy. It was murky outside; the stars’ faint light shone dim in the hazy sky; a little snow came down, flake by flake, looking like long fluffy threads, and noiselessly fluttering past the windowpanes.
In the cabin, too, it was quiet and somewhat dull. Simon had come as soon as evening had closed in—ostensibly to visit them, but really to meet with Nastka; and the two sat side by side, talking in low voices. Boryna was not home yet. Yagustynka sat on one side of the fireplace, peeling potatoes. On the other, Pete was playing a tune on his violin, very gently, but with such sad notes that now and then Lapa would whine, or vent a long-drawn howl. Vitek was there too, along with Yuzka. After a time, Yagna, whom the tune made nervous, called out from the bedroom:
“Pete, pray leave off: that music of yours is too dismal!”
And the violin sounded no more. But presently it was heard anew; for subdued strains, all but inaudible, now came from the stable, whither Pete had withdrawn; and there he continued playing far into the night. When Boryna came in, supper was getting ready.
“Well, the Voyt’s wife is brought to bed. Folk are swarming there so that Dominikova has to drive them off, they come in such crowds. Yagna, you must go and see her tomorrow.”
“Instantly—I will go instantly!” she cried, excited and eager all at once.
“Very well; and I’ll go with you.”
“Ah! Perhaps tomorrow will do better.” And she added, to explain her quick change of mind: “Yes, I should prefer going in the daytime. The snow is falling, it is dark, and you say there are so many people.”
He acquiesced; all the more readily because the smith’s wife and children entered the hut just then.
“Why, where is your goodman?”
“At Vola. The threshing-machine there is out of order, and the manor blacksmith cannot put it to rights.”
“Somehow,” Yagustynka observed, in tones full of significance, “somehow he goes very often to the manor now.”
“Have ye any objection?”
“None in the world. I only note one thing and another, and watch to see what will come of it all.”
Her words failed to set tongues wagging; no one cared to talk loud. Each spoke to his neighbour in drowsy whispers; all were heavy with sleep, of which they had had too little the night before. They supped, too, with but little relish, and looked (not without surprise) at Yagna, who was in high spirits, bustling about the room, pressing them to eat, even after they had laid down their spoons, bursting into laughter, no one knew why, and sitting down beside the girls and talking nonsense, to break off on a sudden and run out to the other lodgings … and return when she had got only as far as the passage. Truth is, she was racked with a fever of anguish and dread. The evening wore away sluggishly, wearily, whilst her longing to go out behind the hut—to the haystack—grew ever stronger and stronger. Yet she could not make up her mind to go. She feared to be seen—she feared to commit sin. She was putting forth all her power of self-control, and trembling with the agony of effort; her soul cried out for liberty like a chained-up dog; her heart was rent within her. No, no! she could not bear it! … Perhaps he was standing there … looking about for her … he might be prowling round the cabin. … Perhaps, hidden in the orchard, he was even then looking in at the window at her … and imploring … and pining away with sad desire! … Then she thought she would run out, but only for a minute … only to say one word, to tell him he must not come to her nor she to him, for it was a sin. … And now she was looking for her apron to put it on … and now she made for the door. … But there something caught hold of her by the nape of the neck, as it were, and pulled her back.—Yagustynka’s eyes followed each of her movements, like a sleuthhound.—Nastka too looked strangely at her.—And the old man too!—Did they know? had they found out anything? … “No, no; I will not go out today.”
Lapa, barking outside the hut, roused her at last from the state of obsession she was in. The cabin was nearly empty. Only Yagustynka sat there, dozing by the fireside. Her goodman, too, was standing at the window and looking out; for the dog barked more and more furiously.
“No doubt, Antek, no longer able to wait, had now. …” She broke off in terror.
But only old Klemba stood there in the doorway. Behind him, shaking and stamping the snow off their clothes and boots, came Vinciorek, Gregory “the Lame,” Michael Caban, Franek Bylitsa (Hanka’s uncle), Valenty “the Wry-mouthed,” and Joseph Vahnik!
Boryna marvelled much at this deputation, as it seemed to be, but said not a word, except to answer their greetings. He shook hands all round, bade them be seated on the benches he pushed forwards, and offered his snuffbox.
They all sat down in a row, and took a pinch, nothing loath; one sneezed, another blew his nose, a third wiped his eyes, the snuff being of first-class strength. … They then looked round them, and some spoke a few words—about the snowy weather, about hard times—while others assented with grunts and nods: all, however, approaching at leisure the object of their visit.
Boryna shifted uneasily on his bench, stared at them, and attempted by various means to draw them out and learn what they would have of him.
He
