night, all the air seemed to be filled with meanings.
God be praised--at last! Then he fell asleep, and heard nothing more.

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

Mr. Tiralla had moved along by the walls of his room. He ran like a
restless animal in a cage; not quickly--he could not do that--but to
and fro as though in despair. "Rosa, Roeschen," he called in a [Pg 305]
loud voice. It seemed to him that she had been with him, but he did not
know for certain. And that was what he was pondering over now. How
awful it was not to be able to recollect anything! She had been such a
dear little girl--she had once been his little daughter--but she was
that no longer, for she, his consolation, had thrust him away from her.
Alas, alas! It was very sad.

He puckered up his face and began to cry. Now he had nothing to console
him, everything was gone. "Everything dr--dru--nk up," he stammered,
sobbing. All at once he understood things clearly; no, he had nothing
more in this world.

Where was Starydwor? It had not belonged to him for a long time, he
neither went sowing nor reaping, it was not his any longer.

He had no wife, no children, no friend, and no God. The Almighty would
not have anything more to do with him. He had forgotten all, all his
prayers; he had ceased to go to confession; he belonged to hell.

"Poor Ti--Ti--Ti----" he said sadly, as he struck his breast with his
trembling finger. He could not even recollect his own name--that had
been forgotten too. He had nothing, nothing whatever.

Oh, yes, he had. He put his hands to his shaking head, that never kept
quiet for a moment. He had saved something, hidden something like a dog
his bone. He would go to it now. And even if his father were to beat
him afterwards and say, "Boy, why do you eat unripe fruit?" still, what
was hidden behind the loose stone in the wall would taste good.

Mr. Tiralla walked to the door; he had suddenly recovered the use of
his limbs. He shuffled and staggered, but still he went on. It was a
wonder that he succeeded in opening the front door, which was [Pg 306]
looked, but all at once he had become possessed of strength in his
fingers and strength of will too.

The wind in the yard knocked him down. He fell full length, but picked
himself up again. "_Dalej_, _dalej!_" Quiet, very quiet--no lamenting
even if he had hurt himself on the stones--so that his father should
not come and seize him by the collar, "Tell m