s death in there--at other times he
always snored so--what would she see in there? God be praised! She
could hardly await the spectacle.

She threw herself against the door with all her weight; she pressed her
hands and knees so firmly against it that she, the weak woman,
succeeded in doing what the strong man had not been able to do. [Pg
271] The rotten framework gave way, and the door, lifted off its
hinges, fell with a dull crash into the room. The woman fell with it.

At first she saw nothing, stunned as she was by the fall and blinded by
the dust from the rotten wood. But how soon she saw it all!

There was Mr. Tiralla hanging from the hook in the centre beam, which
had once been destined to carry a chandelier, close to the table with
bottles and glasses. The man had made a noose of his handkerchief; the
ceiling was low and his toes almost touched the chair, but still he was
dangling.

"O God!" She uttered a heartrending scream and sprang forward. There he
was, dangling, quite blue in the face and with his tongue hanging out
of his mouth. How awful, how terrible! She did not give herself time to
consider whether he was alive or not, or whether he would recover; all
she did was to look round for help.

At that moment Mikolai returned. He stood motionless, staring with open
mouth, the hatchet in his hand. The woman tore it out of his hand,
swung it like lightning, the sharp edge cut the noose--and Mr. Tiralla
fell on the floor with a dull thud.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

It was a terrible night at Starydwor. Everybody had come running,
awakened by the noise of the falling door and Mikolai's cries.

Marianna howled as though she were out of her mind; both she and
Mikolai had lost their self-command. Rosa had only given one short
scream, and then, with upraised hands, had fallen down in a deep faint.

Mrs. Tiralla was the only one who remained calm. She had helped the two
men to put the body on the [Pg 272] bed, and now she stood looking on,
mute and motionless, whilst Martin rubbed the stiffened limbs and moved
the man's arms up and down, as he had been taught to do when he was a
soldier. Was Mr. Tiralla dead?

"He's not dead yet." It was Martin who spoke, and she heard what he
said without answering a word. She closed her eyes; how compassionate
his voice--the beloved's voice--sounded. Did he feel sorry for her--or
himself? No, he only felt sorry for Mr. Tiralla.

She