The old man, hearing her voice, came out and brought her into the cabin himself, asked about the children and was pained at what she had undergone. She presently became calmer, and told him everything without concealment. But she felt shocked at the change that he too had suffered; for he had aged a good deal, stooped much more, and looked faded and withered and thin. But his face still wore the same expression as of old, and was even full of more grim and dogged determination than before.
They had a long talk; and when, after an hour or so, Hanka prepared to go home, Boryna told Yuzka to make a large bundle of everything they could spare. It turned out to be so large that she could not carry it by herself; so Vitek had to take it on a toboggan. And, as she went out, Boryna thrust several zloty into her hands “for salt-money,” and said:
“Come hither more often—every day, if ye can. No one knows what may happen to me, so pray look after the house. And Yuzka loves you.”
Thereupon she went away, reflecting on his words as she went, and paying but little heed to Vitek’s prattle. Yet he was telling her how the Voyt and the Soltys came daily to press Master to be reconciled to Yagna; how Master had even been at his Reverence’s, along with Dominikova—who had afterwards conferred with him till very late the night before—and told her all the news he thought would interest her.
She found Antek still at home, repairing his boots. He did not even look up in her direction; but, on seeing Vitek and the pack, he said, tauntingly:
“Come back from begging, I see.”
“Beggars have to beg.”
But when Vitek came in, Antek, recognizing him, flew into a passion.
“Blood of a dog!—I forbade you to go to Father’s!”
“He asked me himself—I went; he offered the things unasked—I accepted.—Am I, are the children, to die of hunger?—To you ’tis indifferent; but I will not have it.”
“Take all that back again!” he shouted. “I want nothing from that man.”
“You do not: I and the little ones do!”
“Take it back, I say, or I’ll take it myself … aye, and thrust his charity down his throat to choke him! Do you hear? I’ll throw all that stuff out of doors!”
“You dare to try! Lay but a finger on it, and you’ll see!” she screamed, catching up the tiny house-mangle, ready to defend, tooth and nail, the things given her. So dangerous did she look, so infuriated, that he shrank back in confusion at this unexpected resistance.
“He has bought you cheap,” he growled. “Very cheap.—For a bit of bread, as one lures a dog!”
“You have sold us—and yourself—cheaper still: for Yagna’s … petticoat!” she burst out.—Antek started, as though stabbed. And then Hanka seemed suddenly to have gone raving mad. In a torrent of words she overwhelmed him with every wrong he had ever done to her, and with a host of remembrances and grievances she had never yet spoken of; unsparingly, passing over not one single fault or unkindness; beating him so unmercifully with the flail of her speech that, if she could, she would have beaten him to death on the spot.
He stood aghast at her mad rage; and he felt something, too, that was tearing at his heart. With bowed head he listened, dismayed, and a bitter sense of shame burned his soul; then he snatched up his cap and fled out of the hut.
It was long ere he could make out what strange transformation had come over her. As a dog spurned from the door, he ran away, never thinking where he went, to wander about aimlessly, as indeed was his daily custom.
For since that terrible hour of the conflagration, a fearful thing had come into being within him: he was, so to speak, a prey to secret insanity. He no longer went to his work, although the miller had several times sent for him; he did nothing but wander about the countryside, or sit drinking in the tavern, continually revolving in his mind thoughts of bloody vengeance, and his soul was full of nothing else.
He was even indifferent to the suspicions of arson which sullied his name.
“Let anyone dare to utter them to my face … let him but dare!” he had cried to Matthew in the tavern, loud enough for all present to hear.
The heifer which remained to him he had sold to a Jew, and drunk the price of it with his associates; for he had now for pot-companions all the riffraff in Lipka; such vile fellows as, for instance, Bartek Koziol, or Philip (from over the water), Francis, the miller’s man, or those, the lowest of all, the jailbirds, Gulbasowa’s sons—men always ready for any act of debauchery, always prowling like wolves about the countryside, seeking what they could snap up and barter to the Jew for a few drams. But he cared little what they were: they kept him company, and fawned upon him as spaniels fawn on their masters. He did indeed give one or another a thrashing now and then; but he willingly stood them drinks and protected them against other folk.
The gang shortly committed so many lawless acts and breaches of the peace that complaints were made every day to the Voyt, and even to his Reverence.
Matthew cautioned him, but unavailingly. Vainly, too, had Klemba, out of pure kindliness, besought him to stop in time, and not ruin his life forever. He listened to no one, did more and more desperate deeds, drank yet harder, and had become the dread of the whole village.
In short, he was rolling swiftly to his destruction down a precipitous hill. All Lipka had their eyes upon him—eyes of suspicion and apprehension. As to the fire, indeed, they were divided in opinion; but they saw with their own eyes the deeds
