That was Mrs. Tiralla's fixed idea. In a transport of despair and fervour, hatred and devotion, all strangely mingled, she flung herself on her knees before the picture where she had prayed for so many years, and which reminded her so strongly of her best and only friend's delicate, beautiful face. "Help, help!" After praying and weeping for a long time, weeping so bitterly and so copiously that her face and hands and even her bosom were quite wet with tears, she rose. She had made up her mind. Mikolai was coming to-morrow, therefore quick, at the eleventh hour. She went to the lumber-room and fetched the poison. [Pg 165] The yellow grains looked exactly like those her husband had just been scattering. She would throw some of them to the poultry that very evening when they were hungry. And if they died--what a pity it would be about them--then Mr. Tiralla should get some of the powder in his wine or coffee. Rosa had gone to the Przykop with Marianna to fetch some branches and moss. She had made up her mind to place a wreath over the front door in honour of her brother's return; he should see at once how happy she was that he was coming back to her. And the stranger's first impression of the old house, with its dark, yawning passage, would thus be made a pleasant one also. Rosa had never had any fault to find with her home; still, she felt in a dull kind of way that Marianna was right when she used to say, "Ugh! how uncomfortable this place is!" So the two gathered some of the green, damp moss, with small, delicate, feathery leaves on short stalks, that covered the ground in the morass like a carpet. Rosa was going to wind it round a rope; she had made many wreaths like that for the Holy Virgin's altar at Starawies and for the Bo[^z]a meka, which stood on the outskirts of her father's field, and they used to look lovely when she stuck a few flowers among the moss. True, she had no more flowers, for the few that she once had in the little garden behind the palings had lived only a very short time; they had soon been choked by the weeds that flourished so luxuriantly there. But if she put some of the bird-cherries which grew on the roadside into it, or some of the cranberries that shone like drops of blood in the moss, the wreath would look very bright. Rosa was very happy and excited to-day. The sedate [Pg 166] girl was completely changed; she tore up handfuls of moss and, standing behind Marianna, threw them gleefully on her cap and down her neck, as she bent forward. And when the latter, scolding and panting, loosened her frill and picked the earth and bits of moss off her neck, she jumped upon her like a wild cat, put both arms round her, and imprinted numerous boisterous kisses on her brown throat. "Just look at little Rosa, she's like a lover," cried Marianna. Throwing her arms round the girl she wrestled with her and kissed her merrily, so that Rosa's delicate little face glowed and she was quite breathless.