“Vitek, give the horses their hay; they have been gnawing the empty mangers a long time; and I cannot move.... Are they still dancing?” he asked a little later, when the lad was filling the racks with hay. “They are not like to have done till noon; and some are so drunk, they are lying by the roadside.” “Ah, they are enjoying themselves, the masters are!” And he sighed deeply. “Was the miller there?” “Aye, but he left rather early.” “Many people?” “Beyond counting. Why, the cabin was overflowing with them.” “Plenty for all?” “Like manor guests! They brought them meat in such huge dishes! And vodka and beer and mead were poured out in floods! Of sausages alone, there were piles enough to fill three troughs.” “When is the bride coming?” “This afternoon.” “They are rejoicing and feasting still. My God! I thought I’d gnaw a bone at least, and eat my fill once in my life!... And here I am, lying, sighing, and hearing about other people’s good cheer!” Vitek returned to his bed. “If I could but feast my eyes on those good things!” He said no more, feeling weary, sad, and tormented by a sort of faint timid querulousness that gnawed at his heart now. At last, however, he spoke, patting the dog’s head. “Well, well! may they all be the better for it! Let _them_ at least get some pleasure out of this life!” The fever, increasing, began to confuse his thoughts; to drive it away, he applied himself to prayer, offering himself to the mercy of the Lord Jesus; but he could not remember what he was saying; he was dazed with sleep coming over him, and only a string of ejaculations that were prayers mingled with tears, trickled from his consciousness—the told beads of a crimson rosary! Now and then he roused himself, but only to look around him blankly, recognizing nothing, and fall back into deathly and corpse-like unconsciousness. Again he woke, now to groan so loud that the horses pulled at their bonds and snorted to hear him. “O God! that I may but hold out till day!” he moaned in terror; and his eyes wandered through the window, staring out at the world and the approaching dawn, seeking the sun in that sky yet grey and lifeless and studded with paling stars. But the day was a long distance away still. In the stable, plunged in turbid mistiness, the horses’ outlines were growing dimly visible; and the racks beneath the window slits showed like ribs in the pale glimmer. Fall asleep again he could not: the pains were torturing him anew; they felt like sharp gnarled sticks thrust into his legs, piercing, boring, stabbing in and in; and the agony became so unbearable that he started up, screaming with all his might, till Vitek woke and came round. “I am dying!... Oh, how it pains!... How the pain swells! how it crushes me! Vitek, run for Ambrose.... O Lord!... Or else call Yagustynka.... Perhaps she can help.... I am not able—my last hour is here....” He burst out weeping terribly. Vitek, all sleepy as he was, ran to the wedding feast.