Yagna groped and found the milking-stool, sat down by the first cow in the row, felt her udder, wiped it clean, and, propping her head against the animal’s flanks, began her work. The milk spurted rhythmically into the resounding pail; the hoofs of the horses pawed in the adjoining stable; from the cabin, muffled, yet audible, came the noise of Yuzka’s chattering. “Aye, she babbles and babbles, but does not peel the potatoes!” Yagna muttered, bending a most attentive ear; for now the snow outside was crackling under—it seemed to her—the steps of someone coming from the shed.... They stopped ... all was still again ... they approached—the snow crackled louder.—Turning her head toward the glimmering outlines of the open door, she saw a figure dimly silhouetted there. “Pete!” she cried. “Hush, Yagna, hush!” “Antek!” Motionless, palsy-stricken at the sight and words, she could not articulate one syllable, nor even think. Instinctively she went on milking, but the milk squirted on to her petticoat, or fell on the ground. A fit of fever had seized upon her; a gust, as it were, of fiery flame swept through all her being, flashing lightnings before her eyes, tearing at her heart-strings with delicious pain. And then something caught her and throttled her so, she had like to fall dead on the spot. “Ever since Yule-tide,” he whispered, “I have been as a watch-dog, waiting and watching for you, there, by the haystack ... and you did not come once.” That voice of his! Strangled, passionate, flaming with love, it overwhelmed her with the might of its clamorous outcry to her heart, and of the sweet irresistible fire it bore. He stood facing her, leaning (as she could feel) against the cow’s flank, bending down and gazing upon her—so near that she could feel his hot breath upon her brow. “Do not fear me, Yagna. No one has seen; fear nothing.... I could bear it no longer, it was impossible: day and night and always, you stand before mine eyes, Yagna.—Will you not say one word?” “What—what can I say?” she faltered tearfully. Then they both were silent. Emotion made them mute, and the very closeness of one to the other, the very solitude in common that they had so much desired, now took all power from them, and weighed them down—a burden delightful indeed, but fearful as well. They were irresistibly drawn to each other, and yet it was now so hard to bring out a single word! Their desire was mutual, and yet neither could stretch forth a hand! The cow, swishing her tail as she drank, struck him more than once in the face, until he caught it in a firm grasp. Then he bent down over Yagna still lower, and whispered again: “Sleep I cannot—nor eat—nor do aught without you, O Yagna!” “Things are not easy for me either.” “Yagna! did you ever think of me at all?” “Was I able not to think? You arise in my thoughts always.... I know no longer what to do.—Is it true that ye did smite Matthew?”