The candles were growing dim, so near was the day; a dingy ashen twilight pervaded the room where they danced. But they still took their enjoyment as heartily as ever. If any found the liquor now flowing too scantily, he sent to the tavern for more vodka, sought out companions, and drank with them to his liking. Some had withdrawn; some were tired and resting awhile; some, overtaken by drink, were sleeping off its fumes in the passage or by the door: others, still more intoxicated, were stretched under the hedges. All the rest danced on, danced ever. At last, some of the more sober made up a group by the porch and, beating the floor in measure, sang thus: O wedding-guests, come home! Already sings the lark; The wood is deep and dark, And ye have far to roam: Come home! O wedding-guests, come home! There’s danger in delay: Athwart our weary way The loud floods roll and foam: Come home! But no one cared to listen to them and their song! CHAPTER XII It was grey dawn when Vitek, tired out by the merry-making and driven home by Yagustynka, hastened to Boryna’s hut. A little watch-light was burning there, like a glow-worm. Vitek looked in at the window, and beheld the old _Dziad_, Roch, sitting at the table, where he was singing hymns. The boy silently glided away to the stable, and was fumbling at the door-catch, when he jumped back with a cry of astonishment. A dog had leaped upon him, uttering a whine. “What, Lapa, Lapa? ’tis you back again, poor wretch!” he cried, and sat down on the door-step, overcome with joy.—“Hungry and starving: is it not so?” He had put by a bit of sausage, saved from the feast, which he now took out of his bosom to offer the dog. But it did not care for food just then: it barked, laid its head on the lad’s breast, and whined for sheer delight. “Did they starve you, poor thing? did they drive you away?” he whispered, opening the cow-byre door, and at once throwing himself on his straw bed. “But now I shall defend and take care of you.” With these words he nestled deep in the straw; and the dog, lying down beside him, growled gently and licked his face. They were both asleep in an instant. From the stable close by, Kuba called to him in a voice weakened by illness. He called for a long time; but Vitek was sleeping like a dormouse. After a time, however, Lapa recognized his voice, and fell to barking furiously and pulling the boy’s coat. “What’s the matter?” Vitek asked sleepily. “Water! The fever is pulling me to pieces.... Water!” Vitek, peevish and drowsy though he was, brought him a pailful, and held it to his lips. “I am so ill, I can hardly breathe!... What’s growling round here?” “Why, Lapa!” “Lapa is it?” Kuba groped to touch the dog’s head in the dark; and Lapa leaped about, frisked, and tried to get on to the bed.