Boryna was making for home by another way—direct and leading down over the bridge, under which the waters of the pond, rolling towards the mill, with a hollow bubbling sound, poured into the stream. He then crossed to the other side, skirting the pond, where the waters shone darkly and the trees along its shores cast gloomy shadows over its surface, framing it in ebony; though near the centre, where the shadows were lighter, the twinkling stars were reflected as in a mirror of steel. Matthias himself could not have said why he did not now go straight home, instead of choosing a roundabout way. Did he want to pass in front of Yagna’s house? Possibly he meant only to collect his thoughts and revolve matters within his head. “Really, it would not be a bad thing. And what they say of her is all very true. Yes, she is a strapping girl!” A shiver ran through him. It was damp and cold near and about the pond and he came straight from the Voyt’s cosy fireside. “Without a woman at home, I must either be ruined or make over the farm to my children,” he thought, and then: “And she’s a lusty wench, and as pretty as a picture. My best cow gone to-day! and who knows what else will go to-morrow? Perhaps I ought to look out for a second wife; my first one has left things to wear a plenty. But Dominik’s old widow ... she is a wicked creature!—Three of them, and fifteen acres: about five for Yagna, besides her share of the cabin and the livestock. Five acres of fields—the very ones beyond my own potato-patch. Together with mine, they will make close to thirty-five acres. A nice bit of land!” He rubbed his hands and set his girdle straight. “The miller would be the only man richer than I. Next year, I would manure and till the whole of my lands for wheat. I would have to purchase another horse. And a cow too, in place of poor Red-and-White.—Oh, but then she would bring a cow of her own....” So he went on musing, calculating, and dreaming farmers’ dreams, till the weight of his thoughts became, he felt, too big for his mind. For he was marshalling every detail, like the intelligent peasant that he was, and considering whether he had not possibly overlooked anything of importance. “They would raise a hue over it, the rascals!” he said to himself, thinking of his children. But at the thought there rushed over him a wave of indomitable self-confidence, which immediately filled his soul and confirmed him in his purpose, wavering and undecided as he had been hitherto. “The land is my own. Let anyone else dare claim my property! If they don’t like it, they may....” Here he broke off, for he was then standing in front of the cabin where Yagna dwelt. The lamps were not yet out, and a long streak of brightness from the open window, passing through the dahlia bushes and the hedge, illumined the road. Boryna, standing in the shadow, glanced into the room.