ts. He was a heavy weight and
the man's shoulders and arms ached, but he was pleased to help the
gentleman. That good Mr. Tiralla--Heaven bless him--had given him a new
two-shilling bit as a tip.

Not a word was spoken by the couple. Mrs. Tiralla sat motionless at the
back with her cloak wrapped tightly round her, for she was icy cold.
She had drawn her shawl far down over her forehead, but her burning
eyes wandered in mute despair over the desolate, slushy fields in the
early morning twilight. Oh, how uncomfortable she felt, how tired out.
She couldn't understand now why she had wanted to go to the ball
instead of lying in her warm bed and being lulled to sleep by Rosa's
soft-toned prayers, and thus forgetting her miserable existence in the
arms of the saints.

She was seized with an unutterable aversion for her present life.
There, alas!--and her big eyes grew bigger and bigger and more
desperate-looking--there was the first of the big pines on the Przykop,
looking just like a flagstaff with a waving pennon on it, and near it,
although not yet visible, lay Starydwor, the old, lonely farm where she
had to go on living year after year with Mr. Tiralla. How much longer?

A ditch ran along the side of the road, a broad, deep ditch. The
carriage jolted as they rumbled along. How would it be if they were to
fall into the ditch with carriage and horses, and break their necks?
Ha, wouldn't that be a good thing? She stood up in the carriage--how
stiff she was after sitting so long--and, resting her left hand on the
side-rail, carefully bent over her husband.

He was asleep. His head had fallen on his breast, [Pg 106] his snores
mingled with the rattle of the wheels. He was sleeping as deeply and
soundly in the wet and cold and discomfort as though he were at home in
his bed. The reins hung loosely between the enormous fingers of his fur
gloves. All she had to do was to take them away from him, he wouldn't
notice it. She did so. He was sleeping so soundly that he had no idea
of what was going on behind him.

She was standing on the seat now, erect and with flashing eyes, holding
the reins with both hands. Now a tug, a turn to the left--she could not
reach the whip, but a "_Huj_, _het!_" was enough--then a sudden jerk
with all her strength, and the terrified horses jumped to the left. One
wheel was already hanging over the side of the ditch--farewell, Mr.
Tiralla!--a grimace partly of horror at what she had done, partly of