He went round to his brother-in-law, the smith, though expecting no advice from the man, and only wanting to remain a short time away from his father’s dwelling, and in somebody’s company.—Ah! the priest would preach work to him, would he? Preaching to others was an easy thing for those who have nothing to trouble them!—“Remember your wife and child!”—Was he likely to forget them? Her! ... whom he loathed so, with her wailing and her meekness and wistfully glancing eyes! Were it not for her ... were he but single!—O Lord! He groaned deeply; a wild fit of anger swept over him, and he would have liked to take someone by the throat—strangle him—tear him to pieces!... But whom? He knew not. His fury passed away as suddenly as it had come. He looked blankly out into the night and hearkened to the whistling blasts. Then he walked on, trudging heavily, scarce able to drag himself; for now he felt weighed down by a mountain of sorrow, lassitude, and such a sense of prostration that he no longer knew whither he was going, nor for what purpose. “Yagna is my father’s—my father’s!” he repeated again and again, each time in a lower key. In the smith’s shop, a boy was working the bellows with might and main, and the draught that poured on to the flaring roaring embers made them burst into blood-red flames. The smith stood at the anvil, grimy-faced, girt with a leather apron, his arms bare, his cap on the back of his head, beating a red-hot iron bar till the anvil resounded, while showers of sparks flew from beneath the hammer, and fell hissing into the moist ground of the forge. “Well?” he asked, after waiting a moment. “Well, what?” Antek mumbled, leaning against a basket-wagon frame, several of which were standing by to have their iron-work repaired; and he gazed into the fire. The smith went on, working hard at the incandescent iron, and beat away, keeping time as he smote upon the anvil with his hammer; or, when a yet more powerful blast was needed, helping the boy to blow; but ever and anon stealing a glance at Antek, while a malicious smile peeped from under his red moustache. “Well, so you have been to his Reverence again: and what has come of it?” “And what should come? Nothing. I might have heard just the same in church.” “What else did you think to get?” “Why, he knows a great deal,” Antek replied in self-defence. “As to taking, yes; as to giving, no.” Antek was in no mood to contradict him. “I am going to your cabin,” he said after a pause. “Go; I shall join you at once, for the Voyt is to be here. You will find tobacco on the top of the press: help yourself.” Antek had not so much as heard him, as he made straight for the house which stood opposite. His sister was kindling the fire, and her eldest boy, at the table, learning out of a spelling-book. “Is he studying?” he asked; for the boy spelt aloud, pointing to each letter with a sharp stick.