She experienced in her soul a devouring, a ravenous craving for work, and such a concentration of force as stiffened her frame and gave firmness and speed to her steps. She also felt a longing to pass near her father-in-law’s cabin, were it but to look at the premises from without, and satisfy the desire of her eyes! But in front of the church door she turned away to follow a narrow path that led over the frozen pond to the mill; and she walked fast, not looking to right or left—careful only not to slip on the ice, determined to pass swiftly by and see nothing, lest her heart should be wounded again by the remembrance of the past. But she failed. Somehow, just opposite Boryna’s, she stopped suddenly, and could not take her eyes away from the lights that glimmered in the windows. “It is ours—ours!... How can we possibly go from here?... The blacksmith would seize it instantly. No! I do not budge hence. Here shall I stay, like a watch-dog, whether Antek stays or not!... His father is not immortal; and other changes too may come about.... I will not see my children despoiled, nor will I go from the village.” These thoughts passed through her mind, as she gazed upon that snow-covered orchard, and the faint outlines of buildings beyond: the silvered roofs, the dark-tinted walls, and—in the background, behind a shed—the sharp cone of a haystack. The night was still, cold, black-hue, oversprinkled with a sand of stars, it seemed, and wrapping the snowy earth in silvery folds. The trees stood drooping under the weight of snow that bent them down, as if slumbering incomprehensibly in the stillness which flooded the world: white-sheeted phantoms, vapoury, yet rigid. Every voice had died away; only something—was it the breathing of those entranced inanimate trees? was it a murmur from the quivering stars?—something there was that trembled in the air. And there stood Hanka, forgetful of the minutes which went by, forgetful of the sharp intolerable cold, her eyes staring on that homestead, greedily drinking the sight of it, taking it all into her heart, absorbing it with all the strength of her insatiable dreams. A sudden crackling in the snow woke her up: someone was coming by the same path across the pond, and in a little she looked upon Nastka. “What, you, Hanka?” “Why such amazement? Am I dead, and is it my ghost you see?” “What fancy has taken hold of your I had not seen you for a long time, and was surprised.—Which way are you going?” “To the mill.” “My way too; I am taking Matthew his supper.” “Is it a miller’s trade he is learning there now?” “A miller’s? No, indeed! They are building a sawmill here in such great haste that they are now working at it even at night.” They walked on together, Nastka prattling away, but careful to say no word about Boryna; and Hanka, though she would have been glad to hear, feeling that she could not possibly ask. “Does the miller pay well?” “Matthew gets five _zloty_ fifteen _groschen_.”