"But I do," said Mrs. Tiralla. "Lord, my soul is longing for Thee. Let me again to-day partake of Thy saving grace. Thou knowest my misery, come. Thou who hast redeemed me by Thy blood, O Son of God. When Thy holy body, O most sweet Jesus, unites itself with my body, and Thy holy soul has poured itself into my soul, oh, what a new, happy life I shall lead. Be gracious to us. Hear us." She repeated it in a loud voice, and the child raised her hands devoutly and with a pious shudder murmured it after her mother. * * * * * * * * * * * * * When Mrs. Tiralla came down next morning it was late. She had at last fallen asleep whilst kneeling by Rosa's bedside, so that she did not see the sunbeam dancing on the wall, nor hear the cock crowing, the clatter of the milk pails, the squeaking of the chain in [Pg 154] the old well, nor the lowing of the cattle. She had fallen into a dead sleep. And when she at last started up in confusion, awakened by Rosa's caressing touch, she did not venture to go downstairs. She sent the child. "Look if he's up." But Rosa did not return. Why did she not come? Mrs. Tiralla waited and waited; the minutes seemed to lengthen themselves into hours. Holy Mother, what had happened downstairs, as the child did not return? Courage, courage, courage! She pressed both hands to her heart that was throbbing furiously. If only she had never come to Starydwór, if only she had remained the poorest among the poor, the most wretched among the wretched. She listened involuntarily. Hark, was that not his voice? No, neither scream nor groan reached her ear. There was no help for it, she would have to go downstairs. It would seem so strange if she were to remain in her room any longer; she would have to go down at once. She drew a deep breath, tore the door open, took a run and rushed downstairs. Where was he lying? Where should she find him? "Good morning," said Mr. Tiralla. He was in a good humour and was just coming out of his room. His eyes were still full of sleep and he was rubbing them. But his eyes were quite clear, they still saw the light of day. The woman started back as though she had seen a ghost. "Why are you so frightened, eh?" he cried, laughing. "You've slept too long, I suppose? Ha, ha." She did not answer. Even if her life had depended upon it, she could not have uttered a single word. It was too terrible, too terrible! He did not pay any attention to her silence nor to [Pg 155] her disturbed looks. He was in a very happy frame of mind and was waving a letter in his hand, a letter from his soldier son. Mikolai had not written for a long time, he did not care for writing. But now he wrote: