one arm lying bare; she was so shrunken he would scarcely have known
her--she was all but a skeleton, and as white as a piece of chalk. Her
eyelids were closed, and she lay still as death. He staggered toward her
and fell upon his knees with a cry of anguish: "Ona! Ona!"

She did not stir. He caught her hand in his, and began to clasp
it frantically, calling: "Look at me! Answer me! It is Jurgis come
back--don't you hear me?"

There was the faintest quivering of the eyelids, and he called again in
frenzy: "Ona! Ona!"

Then suddenly her eyes opened one instant. One instant she looked at
him--there was a flash of recognition between them, he saw her afar off,
as through a dim vista, standing forlorn. He stretched out his arms to
her, he called her in wild despair; a fearful yearning surged up in him,
hunger for her that was agony, desire that was a new being born
within him, tearing his heartstrings, torturing him. But it was all in
vain--she faded from him, she slipped back and was gone. And a wail of
anguish burst from him, great sobs shook all his frame, and hot tears
ran down his cheeks and fell upon her. He clutched her hands, he shook
her, he caught her in his arms and pressed her to him but she lay cold
and still--she was gone--she was gone!

The word rang through him like the sound of a bell, echoing in the far
depths of him, making forgotten chords to vibrate, old shadowy fears to
stir--fears of the dark, fears of the void, fears of annihilation. She
was dead! She was dead! He would never see her again, never hear her
again! An icy horror of loneliness seized him; he saw himself standing
apart and watching all the world fade away from him--a world of shadows,
of fickle dreams. He was like a little child, in his fright and grief;
he called and called, and got no answer, and his cries of despair echoed
through the house, making the women downstairs draw nearer to each other
in fear. He was inconsolable, beside himself--the priest came and laid
his hand upon his shoulder and whispered to him, but he heard not a
sound. He was gone away himself, stumbling through the shadows, and
groping after the soul that had fled.

So he lay. The gray dawn came up and crept into the attic. The
priest left, the women left, and he was alone with the still, white
figure--quieter now, but moaning and shuddering, wrestling with the
grisly fiend. Now and then he would raise himself and stare at the white
mask before him, then hi