Why did Marianna laugh so? Rosa felt annoyed; the girl had no right to make fun of her. "Don't laugh," she said angrily, stamping her foot.

"You'll find out what it's like when somebody says to you, 'I love you,'" said Marianna, hardly able to contain herself. How stupid the girl was still.

"n.o.body will ever say to me, 'I love you,'" whispered Rosa, bending her head, suddenly saddened. "I'm going into a convent. But, of course"--she jumped up, and opening her eyes wide spread out her [Pg 167] arms--"of course, He'll love me as I love Him." Pa.s.sing from sudden sadness to brightness, she sang in a loud voice:

"Pray to G.o.d for us, then shall it be, Rejoice, O Mary-- That we with Jesus heaven shall see."

Marianna joined in, she knew the hymn. The maid's deeper voice mingled with Rosa's treble; they sang with great fervour:

"Pray to G.o.d for us, O Mary."

It sounded beautiful. The tree-tops ceased their rustling, the autumn wind stopped blowing; the Przykop had grown perfectly calm and was listening.

Then the two went home hand-in-hand with their ap.r.o.ns full of moss.

They had not spoken much more, for Rosa had grown quiet. When Marianna, who could not stand the silence any longer, had begun to tell a gruesome story about a servant girl who had once lived at Starydwor and had buried her child in the Przykop, Rosa had given her such a look that the talkative woman had held her tongue as though she had received a blow on her mouth.

The late afternoon sun was shining on the roofs of the old farm when they reached home. Marianna had also brought a quant.i.ty of mountain ash with her, and Rosa at once sat down on the doorstep and began to make the wreath. First a bunch of green moss, then red berries, then green moss again; it grew rapidly under her practised fingers. Putting her head on one side and raising the wreath she eyed her handiwork with complacence.

Just then her mother came past; her dress touched the girl as she sat on the doorstep.

"Good evening, mummy."

Mrs. Tiralla did not hear; she was like a woman [Pg 168] walking in her sleep, and had not noticed her child. She was enticing the poultry to come and eat. "Chuck, chuck, chuck, chuck, chuck."

The birds came running, and in front of them all was a white hen, a very good layer.

Mrs. Tiralla hesitated for one moment--that was her favourite hen--should she not shoo it away? But then she decided to scatter the corn after all. There must be a victim.

And the beautiful white hen flew at the other greedy hens with open beak, and ate almost all the corn herself. The c.o.c.k, her lord, was the only one she did not venture to chase away, so he got a little as well, and the chickens furtively pecked a few grains too as they stood behind their mother.

Now all the corn had been devoured. The woman, who had been crouching on the ground, got up with a sigh; now she would soon see the result.

She went back into the house without noticing Rosa.

But the latter caught hold of her dress, "Mother, do look. To welcome Mikolai." She held out the green wreath joyfully.

"For Mikolai?" The woman stared at the wreath. For Mikolai! She had to restrain herself from screaming. It would not only be of use to welcome the living, such wreaths are made for the dead too. She shivered and rubbed her cold hands together, as she cried, "I feel chilled," and then, running past Rosa, who was grieved that her mother took so little notice of her beautiful wreath, she hurried upstairs and locked herself into her room. She would not see nor hearken to anybody. And still she listened to every sound downstairs, and would have liked to see what the poultry were doing. Had the beautiful white hen fallen down already, stiff, with outstretched legs?

[Pg 169]

Her longing drew her to the window, from whence she cast a covert glance from behind the curtain. But she saw neither hen nor c.o.c.k. Had they been able to run away? Where were they now?

The shades of evening grew heavier and heavier; soon the farm lay in complete darkness, and the woman could distinguish nothing. Her eyes smarted as she stepped back from the window. She felt tired to death.

Then she heard her husband call to Marianna, as he came in from the fields, to bring him something to eat and drink. That drove her on.

Yes, he should have something to eat and drink--but from her hand.

"Hi, where are you all? Sophia, Rosa, there's a postcard," shouted Mr.

Tiralla.

Doors banged. Then a jubilant cry was heard from Rosa. "He's coming, he's coming. Mikolai is coming to-morrow afternoon."

To-morrow? Already? The listening woman shuddered with terror; it must be done then. Putting her trembling hands into her pocket, she got hold of a little box, and in the little box was----

Clenching her teeth together she went downstairs. She wanted to go into the yard, but whilst flitting through the pa.s.sage she heard her husband and Rosa talking together in the sitting-room.

"Where's your mother?" Mr. Tiralla was asking. Call her; she's to come.

"I'm so happy."

"She won't come," answered Rosa timidly.

"Why not?"

"Because she has locked herself into her room. Oh, father, I believe she's not well."

"Well or not well," shouted Mr. Tiralla--he banged the table, and Rosa began crying--"to the devil with [Pg 170] her if she doesn't come down.

I've had enough of it now She's to come down at once. _Psia krew!_"

H'm, his son's arrival had evidently given him courage; how would he otherwise have dared behave like that? So rough, so brutal. Good!--she put her fingers once more into her pocket and gripped the little box--she would soon come.

First of all, however, she went into the yard to look for her white hen. Where was it lying? Where had it crept to? She sought for it in every corner; she trembled whenever she saw something white gleaming, a piece of paper, a rag, or a little chalk that had crumbled off the wall--could this be it, or that? She felt so miserable that she at last did not know if she wanted to find it or not.

She wept as she sought her beautiful white hen. But as she could neither find it nor the c.o.c.k nor any of the chickens in the corners or on the dunghill, she at length crept back into the house. But she dared not go into the room; she feared her child's eyes. She would bring Mr.

Tiralla something to drink when Rosa had gone to bed. "Your health.

Much good may it do you!"

But it seemed as though Rosa would never leave her father, and the listening woman neither heard her husband's drunken jokes, nor the maid's ribald laughter that evening. What could the two be doing? She crept downstairs in her stockings; the kitchen door was ajar and Marianna was asleep by the fire, and perfect peace and calm reigned in the sitting-room. It was as though an angel were sitting at table with Mr. Tiralla.

Then Mrs. Tiralla perceived that she could do nothing that evening.

Besides, would it not really be better to wait until the early morning?

At daybreak [Pg 171] she would find the poultry dead, and before the sun stood high in the heavens Mr. Tiralla would have received his coffee.

Mrs. Tiralla watched and prayed quietly the whole night through. When she crept downstairs next morning there was n.o.body up. The eastern sky was only faintly streaked with red, the morning light was still very wan and pale, but she could see a little, nevertheless. She groped her way across the yard, holding up her dress so as to prevent it from getting wet. There was not a sound to be heard. But hark, what was that cry that sounded so shrill and penetrating in her ear? She gave a sudden start and let her dress fall on the wet gra.s.s. Why, it was the c.o.c.k! The crowing came from the hen-house. She ran there. Was he really alive? She tore the door open, and out walked the c.o.c.k, stretching his gleaming neck to its utmost extent and crowing shrilly. The c.o.c.k was alive. But what about the hen, her beautiful white hen? She had eaten much more--was she alive too?

The woman's eyes almost started out of her head, and she stretched out a trembling finger. There, there came the hen out of the house, shook herself, put her claws first through one of her outspread wings and then through the other, smoothed her white feathers with her beak, and cackled long and proudly. She had already laid her egg that morning.

And the others? Mrs. Tiralla hastily stuck her head into the hen-house.

There they were, all sitting on the perch; not one of them was missing, not one dead.

Suddenly a heavy load fell from the woman's heart. There was nothing the matter with her beautiful white hen. She caught hold of the bird, and, pressing it [Pg 172] in her arms, caressed and stroked it in spite of its struggles.

But her joy was followed by the most violent fear, a fear that was mingled with disappointment and relief. Now Mr. Tiralla would not die either. The poison was no good, they had been imposed upon. Or--she put her hands to her head, and then she felt as though she ought to fall on her knees--the saints had not willed it. Yes, they had prevented it. It was poison after all, that, she had in the box. She felt it burning her skin through all her skirts. "Jesus, Mary, Joseph!" She heaved a sigh as she tore the box out of her pocket. The saints were not on her side, so it was still not the right thing; away with it. She wanted to hurl it away, into the pool, or there on the dunghill. But then she let her outstretched arm sink--not there. Innocent people might find it, the animals might eat it. But what should she do with it? All at once she dreaded it; she would not have it in her chest any more. Besides, she had no use for it now; if the saints were on her side, she would not be obliged to give him the poison.

She returned to the house like one who had been saved. There she found everybody astir. Mr. Tiralla had also got up early, and was already busy helping Rosa to fix the wreath over the door. He was standing on a stool and she was handing him the nails, and at every dull stroke from the hammer he gave a laugh, and the child clapped her hands. "Now it's fast. It looks pretty like that."

Mrs. Tiralla beckoned to her husband as she pa.s.sed by. "Come here a moment."

She was beckoning to him? He felt much surprised, but followed her at once into his room.