“I will not! To his face I’ll say it!—I went at daybreak to fetch the horses in; the bay one was lying down, the mare feeding: both just where I had left them last night. I loosed them and mounted the bay one, when I saw horses grazing in our clover. It was grey dawn.—I rode on aslant, nigh the priest’s garden, to head them off; so I passed along Klemba’s pathway. And then I saw the priest saying his breviary, and looking round, and whipping his horses further and further into the clover!” “Hush, Michael!... What an unheard-of thing!... The priest himself!... I always said that last year’s hay.... But silence; here comes a woman.” She waddled in hurriedly, and the organist called for Michael from under his bed-clothes. Teresa handed over her eggs, embraced the goodwife’s knees, and begged to know the contents of her husband’s letter. “Just wait a little.” Some time later, they called her into the room. The organist, scantily attired—in shirt and drawers only—was taking his morning coffee. He began to read to her. Her heart died within her as she listened. Yes, he—her husband—was coming back at harvest-time, along with Kuba Yarchyk of Vola, and Gregory, Boryna’s son! The letter was affectionate: he longed to see her, asked about everyone at home, sent messages to his acquaintances, and felt brimming over with gladness at the thought of returning. Gregory added a few words, asking her to tell his father he was coming. Poor fellow! he little knew what had taken place. Those kind words smote Teresa like a whip and cut her to the heart. She did her best to bear up against this dreadful news, but her eyes were soon wet and streamed with telltale drops. “How pleased she is that her goodman is coming!” the organist’s wife said, with derisive emphasis. At the words, she wept yet more abundantly, and took to flight that they should not see her break down yet more. For a long time she went crouching about the hedges. “What shall I do? Oh, what shall I do?” she cried helplessly, in bitter pain. Her goodman was coming ... and would learn everything! Terror, like a destroying blast, swept over her at the thought. Her Yasyek was a good-natured fellow, but very impetuous, like all the Ploshkas. Never would he forgive the wrong done; he would kill him. “O Lord, have mercy!” she cried, but without one thought for herself. Full of tears and rent within her soul, she found her way after a time to Boryna’s cabin. Hanka was out; she had left long since; Yagna was working at her mother’s. Only Yagustynka and Yuzka were at home, spreading out linen to bleach in the orchard. She told them about Gregory, wishing to get away at once. But the old woman took her aside, and said in a low and unusually kind tone: “Teresa, control yourself; be reasonable. Evil mouths cannot be prevented from speaking.... Your Yasyek will return, and will know all in any case. Think of it: a lover is but for a month, a husband for life. ’Tis good advice give.”