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He had been so exhausted by emotion and the decision that he had arrived at after a long struggle that he had not heard Mikolai run out of the room when the maid's loud screams had awakened him, but had slept on like a peaceful child. He finished dressing. He was still so sleepy that he could not understand why he had gone to bed in trousers and socks.
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!
He had never known that his stepmother was so tender-hearted. How she fretted about his father. Mrs. Tiralla wept a long time on his shoulder. Martin Becker remained longer in the fields than Mikolai. He had still to sow some clover seed in a piece of fallow-land, when the latter led the horse home with which he had been harrowing. The young sower whistled as he walked up and down the furrows.
She tore her hair and behaved as though she were mad her master, her good master! Then rushing out of the stables and across the yard she shouted and shrieked, "Pani, Pani, help! Help, Mr. Mikolai!" Mrs. Tiralla came immediately. She had lain awake the whole night.
"Mikolai will have to forgive me," he murmured, and went on with the occupation in which he had been disturbed before. He had secured himself against interruption now, for he had bolted the door. He was packing his belongings. He had arranged and hung up his things in the room as though he had intended remaining at Starydwór for ever.
Becker's eyes were fixed on his plate; he was quiet and happy, and ate with a good appetite. What did he care if the woman was in a bad humour? Let the old man and Mikolai dance to her piping, he would not.
Why, it could not be half as bad as this in a battle. Much rather face a cannon's mouth than that eye the eye he imagined was fixed on him in the dark. "Mikolai!" he called, but his friend only muttered in his sleep. How soundly he was sleeping. It would have been so easy now to get up and go away, Mikolai would not have heard, and he could have escaped so easily and still.
"Father!" cried Mikolai once more, rattling the latch with all his might, but the bolt did not move. "I'll fetch a hatchet," he whispered; "we shall have to break open the door. You wait here and look out." He ran to the shed, where the axe lay by the block. She remained standing in front of the door, whilst an eager desire to learn her fate almost tore her asunder.
She would soon be old enough to get married. Many a wooer would come forward; her curly hair that shone like gold was very conspicuous among all the smooth, dark-haired women of the country. She would also have a good dowry; Mr. Tiralla had hinted at that pretty broadly. And Mikolai was a good fellow and an affectionate brother; he would be pleased to let his sister have her portion.
Marianna had washed her head the night before with soft soap, and rubbed pomade well into the hair, so that it should shine brightly and be smooth when Mikolai came. But she could not make up her mind to use the greasy pomade, so her dry hair brittle like that of all anæmic people was twice as dry as usual, and stood out like a reddish, curly mane round her head.
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