Mikolai was not so calm, the calamity had affected him deeply. His father, his old father. And he had died in all his sins without the consecrated candle, without a priest, and without absolution. He could not compose himself, he sobbed so. He and Marianna vied with each other in weeping. He and she had carried Mr. Tiralla into the house, and their tears had fallen on him like warm rain, drop by drop, a constant flow. * * * * * * * * * * * * * The sun had risen over Starydwór when Martin Becker awoke, disturbed by sobbing and wailing. He had slept very heavily. 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. But then his eye fell on his box that stood packed and corded. Then he remembered everything. He braced himself up and left the room to announce his intention to Mikolai. Why were they weeping and wailing so? Marianna ran past him in the passage. She pointed to the door leading into the big room with a convulsive sob, "Holy Mother, holy Mother!" What was the matter with her? What had happened? An accident? The blood suddenly rushed to his head; had [Pg 312] anything happened to Mrs. Tiralla? Of course not--he shook off the sense of oppression which was overpowering him--she did not know yet that he intended leaving that day. He went into the room from whence the weeping came. It was half-dark, the shutters were closed, and the only light in the room came from the candles burning on the table. He distinguished some dark figures kneeling by a bed, and on the bed an outstretched figure under a white sheet. He started and pressed his hand to his brow; he felt terrified. Who was dead? At that moment Mrs. Tiralla came towards him with outstretched hand. "Mr. Tiralla is dead," she said. "Dead--dead?" he stammered. Her voice had sounded almost triumphant. He did not grasp it all at once, it was not a thing that could be turned over in the mind so quickly. He shuddered, and swiftly made the sign of the cross. A dead person in the house! And the woman could say it so calmly, and gaze at him with such a radiant look that the black in her eyes illuminated the darkness like a sunbeam. The young fellow had a feeling as though he must turn round and run away. He was still hesitating when the woman drew him forcibly towards her, and he felt her icy-cold fingers gripping his wrist. "Martin, Martin," she whispered softly in his ear, "he's dead, now you needn't go." Her voice was only just audible, for Mikolai and Rosa were kneeling at the bedside.