Back they went to the forest, where, cowering behind some trees, they took counsel together how to come back; for they could not tell in which direction to turn.
“Along the pathway to the left: then we shall be sure to come out on the poplar-road, just by the cross.”
“But I do not see the path at all.”
He had to give detailed explanations, for she feared to go the wrong way.
“And can ye tell which way to take?”
“To the left, so far as I can guess.”
They trudged along, skirting the wood and a little within it, to be sheltered from the assaults of the gale.
“Come quickly, night is falling fast.”
“I will, I will, Hanka; let me but breathe awhile.”
But it was no easy matter to win through. The path was not to be seen at all; and besides, a terrible wind assailed them from one side, pouring down avalanches. They took shelter behind trees, crouched under juniper-bushes: all in vain. It pierced to the very marrow of their bones, especially when they passed through some glen: the rustling of the trees then would swell to shrieks, and the whole wood sway and rock till the branches almost touched the ground, lashing their faces at times; and now and then a young tree would fall with such a crash as one might think only a whole uprooted forest could have made.
On they plodded as best they could, to reach the road soon and be home before night: already the fields were turning grey, and over the snowy wilds long dark streaks, like wreaths of smoke, began to appear.
They got to the road at last and, half dead with weariness, fell on their knees before the crucifix.
It stood at the edge of the forest, close to the highway, sheltered by four huge birch-trees, with their white smocks of bark and boughs which dangled like tresses. On a cross of black wood hung a crucified Christ, made of sheet-iron, and painted with lively glowing colours. The winds had partly torn the figure away, for it was suspended by one arm only, and battered the cross as it swung, creaking rustily, as with an appeal for succour and rescue. The weatherbeaten birches would conceal it, as they shook and tossed to and fro; clouds of snow, too, drifted past, hiding it under a white mist, through which occasional glimpses of Christ’s livid body and bleeding face were seen, peering forth from that pallid veil, and filling the heart of the beholder with compassion.
On this old Bylitsa gazed with awe and crossed himself, but he durst say nothing; for Hanka’s face, set, stern, hard, incomprehensible, was like the night now coming on, with blasts, and dim dark snow-tempests: ominously mysterious.
He thought that she saw nothing, heeded nothing. And indeed she sat lost in dreary thought, always revolving that one fact—that Antek had been unfaithful. Within her there was a tempest of sighs as heartrending as that body of Christ crucified—of tears frozen to ice, yet still burning her to death—of clamorous outcries which agony was wringing from her young life!
“Shameless! Without any fear of Heaven!—Her son-in-law, guilty of incest!—O God! O God!”
The horror of it swept over her as a hurricane. At first dismayed, she presently seethed with angry resentful emotion—like the forest she had seen bowing to the blast, then rising in fury to resist it.
“Let us go on … and faster!” she cried. Lifting her bundle on to her shoulders and bending forwards under it, she went forth into the road, never looking back upon the old man, but urged forward by unquenchable implacable resentment.
“Oh, I will pay you for all this; yea, I will pay you in full!” she said, wailing bitterly in spirit; and the bare poplar-trees wailed along with her, as they did battle with the storm.
“I have enough of this. If my heart were of stone, such a blow would break it! … If Antek chooses, let him stay abroad and take his ease in the tavern. But her I do not forgive for the wrong she has done me: I will pay her … and in full! Yes, even though I rot in prison for it.—If such were to walk God’s earth unpunished, then were there no justice in the world!” … Such were her thoughts. But after a while her fury burnt itself out, and grew as pallid as the flowers seen when the windowpanes are frosted over. Her strength was now almost entirely spent, her burden crushed her down; the hard knots on the pine-faggots bruised her shoulders, and her back was aching sorely; while her bundle, fixed with a stick across her neck, pulled hard at her throat, choking her so that she trudged on ever more heavily and slowly.
The road was all covered with driven snow, and open to the blasts on every side. The poplars, scarcely visible a few yards away, stood in an interminable row, bowing and bending with fearful cries and shrieks as the wind lashed them; struggling as birds in a snare, that scream and beat their wings in vain convulsive outbursts.
On the uplands, the wind had somewhat abated; but down below, its rage was yet
