Very quickly did she round the hut, gliding along outside the windows, to the narrow passage between orchard and shed, which was nearly roofed over with drooping snow-laden branches that bent so low, she had to stoop down as she passed. Antek awaited her by the stile; he leaped forward, ravenous as a wolf, and half carried, half dragged her to the rick near the roadside. But that day they were doomed to disappointment. They had scarce got into the rick and joined lips in a kiss, when, stern and loud, Boryna’s voice resounded. “Yagna! Yagna!” They sprang apart, as if struck with lightning. Antek darted away, and ran crouching along the fence; Yagna hastened back to the court-yard. The boughs had torn her apron off her head, and she was covered all over with snow; but this she did not remark. She rubbed her face with snow, took up an armful of firewood from the shed, and walked deliberately into the cabin. Old Boryna eyed her askance and somewhat strangely. “I went to see about Sivula; she is lying down and lowing.” “But where have ye got covered with so much snow?” “Where?—Oh, there’s a lot of it hanging like beards down from the eaves; if you do but touch them, down they come!” She gave the explanation jauntily, but turned her face away from the fire, lest he should see her flaming cheeks. But she could not hoodwink Boryna. Without looking her straight in the face, he could perceive very well that she was blushing crimson, and that her eyes glowed feverishly. A sort of vague uncertain suspicion crept into his mind, and his jealousy snarled and crouched within him, like a dog ready to bite. He pondered and thought very long, and at last concluded that Matthew must have met her and pushed her against the fence. Nastka coming in just then, he thought he would get her to speak. “Ah! What have I heard?—Your Matthew is well and up by now, as it seems?” “Well and up, indeed? Alas!” “Someone told me he had met him in the village this evening.” “’Tis all mere talk. Matthew can hardly move, certainly not rise from his bed. He spits no more blood, though; Ambrose cupped him to-day, and prepared him a drink—lard melted in strong vodka—and they are both taking the medicine together so heartily that one can hear their songs from the road!” The old man put no more questions, but remained suspicious. Yagna, tired of the moody silence, and abashed by his fixed prying stare, related to him every detail of Mr. Yacek’s visit. He was greatly amazed; and, at a loss to conceive what it meant, he took no small pains to find out, pondering every word. He finally decided that the Squire had sent Mr. Yacek to make sure what the Lipka folk thought about the matter of the clearing. “But he never so much as asked one word about the forest!” “When such a one begins, he leads you on and on, as with a rope, and you know neither when nor how, but you tell him all. Well do I know that brood of manor-folk!”