Thus it was with her: though she did not fall asleep, yet her mind was wandering about like a bird through the days of the dead past, through those times that were now no more, and lived only in memory. She was back again in the church, with Antek kneeling beside her, and speaking—speaking—and burning her with those eyes of flame, and filling her with a sweet torture and dismay!... And then appeared the flushed and threatening face of the priest, and his hand stretched out over the people ... and the lighted tapers.... Then came other reminiscences—old ones: her meetings with Antek ... their kisses—their embraces ... till she was full of such a fever of excitement and delectation that she stretched and pressed herself down on the pillow with all her might.... And then, once more, she heard, clear and distinct, the words: “Come out! Come out!” And it seemed to her that, rising at the call, she walked, walked on, skulking along through the brushwood in the dark, shaken with terror, followed by a hue-and-cry, and an awful wind blowing after her among the shadows. And so this went on unceasingly, one impression after another ... and a third ... and a fourth ... and so on, beyond counting: she could in no wise either get rid of these fancies of hers or control them. A nightmare had her in its clutches; or ... was it Satan preparing her to sin by tempting her thus? It was broad day when she got out of bed, and she felt as though she had spent the night on a rack. Every bone in her ached; she was pale, worn out, unspeakably miserable. The frost had slackened a little, but the weather was dull. Now and again it snowed; and then a great wind would spring up, worry the trees, and go whistling down the road. The village, however, was lively and full of the gladness of Yule-tide, and the roads swarmed with folk. Some were dashing by in sledges; some talked outside their huts or went visiting their neighbours; and the children played about in the lanes, and there was everywhere noise and merriment in plenty. But of merriment there was little in Yagna’s heart. For all the joyous flickering of the fire on the hearth, she felt cold: moody in spite of all the mirth and din around her, and the gay songs of Yuzka, ringing through the cabin. Though amongst her own people, she was alone—so terribly alone that she was afraid to look upon them. And frequently, whilst letting her fancy listen to Antek’s passionate whispers, she could not help hearing at the same time certain other words that went to her soul with no less force: “To all such God’s wrath is reserved, and everlasting damnation!”—She could distinctly hear the priest’s voice, and see his glowing face, and his hand stretched out in a threatening gesture.