She came back to her senses with the noise of the mill they were passing, and with the roar of the water pouring over the wheel and under the sluices; for those, owing to the high level of the water, had been thrown open; with a noisy rush the stream rolled down, breaking up into volumes of yeast-like foam that formed long white streaks on the broad expanse of the river. At the miller’s house, just by the roadside, a lamp had been lit and placed on a table, whence it could be seen through the curtained windows. “They really have a lamp, just as at his Reverence’s or at some manor-house!” “For are they not rich folk?” said Simon. “They have more land than Boryna himself; they put their money out at interest; and how they cheat us when they grind our wheat!” “They live like big landowners.... It is well for such as they.... They strut about the rooms, they loll upon the sofas, and eat dainty food, and make others work for them.” So thought his sister, but without envious feelings, nor paying any heed to what Simon went on saying; who, usually taciturn, now held forth on this subject at interminable length. At last they arrived. In their bright warm cabin, a fire was blazing merrily on the hearth. Andrew was peeling potatoes, and their mother preparing supper. Close to the fire sat a hoary-headed old man. “Is all the work over, Yagna?” “Only about three sheets full are still to be cut.” She went into the inner room to change, and was back again at once, getting things ready for the meal, all the time keenly and curiously observant of the old man, who sat profoundly silent, looking into the fire, while his lips moved and his rosary passed through his fingers, bead by bead. When they sat down to the meal, the old dame placed a spoon for him, and asked him to eat with them. “Remain ye with God: I go,” he answered. “But I shall look in here again, and perchance make a longer stay at Lipka.” Kneeling down in the centre of the room, he bent before the holy images, crossed himself, and walked out. “Who is that?” Yagna asked. “A saintly pilgrim. He comes from the Sepulchre of Jesus. This many a year have I known him. He has been here more than once, and brought me holy things from afar.... About three years since....” She was interrupted by the entrance of Ambrose, who, after the usual greetings, took a seat by the fire. “It is so cold and wet that even my wooden leg feels numb!” “Why wander so, in such weather, and in the night too?” Dominikova grumbled. “You had far better have stayed at home and said your prayers.” “At home I was a-weary; so, coming out to see a girl or two, I came first of all to you, Yagna!” “Death is the name of the only girl for you.” “Oh, _she_! she has forgotten me quite; she prefers dancing with the young.” “What do you mean?” Dominikova asked. “That his Reverence has just carried the Holy Viaticum to Bartek over the water.” “Why, he was quite well when I saw him but now at the fair!”