Meanwhile Mikolai went about looking very troubled. He had certainly not wanted to do that, he had only wanted to give Böhnke a reminder when he thrashed him and threw him into the ditch. It also grieved him bitterly for his father's sake; the old man had been so fond of the schoolmaster, who used to spend hours with him like a friend. And now his little Böhnke would never come again. He felt so sorry for his father that he thought he must speak to him about it. But Mr. Tiralla listened to his son's stammering excuses without understanding them. "Schoolmaster--schoolmaster?" He shook his head. "I don't know any schoolmaster. Friend--friend? Have--no--friend." Mikolai shuddered when he looked at his father. There he sat with loose, hanging lip, and eyes the eyeballs of which looked as rigid as though he could not move them any more. He was not like a human being any longer. Did he not remember anything? [Pg 281] He seized the old man by the shoulder and shook him, "Father!" Then Mr. Tiralla shrunk together in his corner like a hedgehog when you put the tip of your finger near it, and shot nervous glances at his son, glances in which there was malevolence as well as fear. Mikolai felt desperate; the man only answered with a grunt now, it was impossible to explain anything to him. He felt as though something were choking him, he was obliged to run out of the stuffy room into the biting north-east wind that swept across the yard from the open fields and whirled the straw and chaff and feathers about that were lying around. How terrible it was! The old man was spoiling both house and farm for him. He clenched his fists and a sigh of indignation was wrung from him; why, it would have been better if his stepmother had not cut him down! He made the sign of the cross as though to confirm the thought. Then he turned to go indoors again. What could he do out there? There was no work to be done, a grey, heavy November mist hung over everything. What had become of Martin? He could no longer understand his friend. How well they had formerly assisted each other to kill time during these dark days. But now Martin could find no rest at Starydwór, he took no pleasure in anything, all he thought of was the first of December, when he was to leave them. The lonely man shivered. Rosa would also be leaving after Christmas; even now she sat in her room upstairs as if it were a cell, and she was happy only when praying alone. She hardly ever appeared downstairs, she seemed to shun everybody. How different it all might have been, how splendid! But his father had ruined everything, everything. [Pg 282] The man uttered a curse as he entered the house. He went in search of his friend. Martin, however, was not pleased to see him; he had begun to turn his drawers and looked up disagreeably surprised when Mikolai came so unexpectedly into the room. "What do you want?" he asked in an angry voice, hastily throwing a bundle of clothes into his box which he locked.