ayer. He was sorry for
Mikolai; he felt a stab in his heart when he heard him whistling. But
he was glad he had not seen Rosa that day. If only he did not see her
again.

Martin shunned Rosa. He did not know himself whether the feeling he had
for the girl was a pious awe, because she was destined for the convent,
or an awe in which there was something like shame, shame because he had
listened to her when she lay on her bed and whispered her innermost
thoughts aloud.

The man sighed as he passed his hand over his brow on which the sweat
was standing. How deeply he had sunk, more deeply than in the deepest
pond in the Przykop. The only thing that could help him now [Pg 289]
would be to tear himself away from Starydwor by force, without any
consideration for anybody.

He remained in his room the whole morning, but when he heard the
rattling of plates and Marianna's call to dinner he stole past the
sitting-room door and out into the yard. He did not care to eat. He
stumbled about among the trees in the Przykop where nobody could see
him, and gave a start every time an animal stirred, or a dry leaf fell
to the ground. His heart felt broken, but the hope of salvation shone
feebly before his eyes. He would soon be away. If only this day were
over!

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

It was a short day in November, but still it seemed endless at
Starydwor. Mrs. Tiralla was full of anxiety and impatience. Martin had
spent the morning in his room, and he had not come to the midday meal.
Where was he? She had sought him everywhere and had not found him. She
was trembling--where could he be? The calm which she had lately
acquired had all at once disappeared; she forgot that the saints held
her fate in their hands; all she could think of was that Martin had
gone away without a word. Was he coming back?

She wandered about in an agony of fear, she could not remain a quarter
of an hour in one place. She ran up and down stairs, from her room down
into the passage and then up again, then out into the yard, where she
stood at the gate without cloak or shawl, and where the cutting wind
caught hold of her apron and spread it out like a sail, whilst she
looked about for Martin. But she could not find the one her heart was
longing for.

The fields lay desolate, the Przykop yawned like a [Pg 290] grave in
which there is no living thing to be found Where had he gone? She
sought his footprints, as a dog seek