The uproar had scarce begun to subside, when she tore herself free from the women round her, darted to the pole behind the fire-place on which Simon’s things were hanging, pulled them all down and threw them out of the window. “Go! may mine eyes not see you any more! Naught is yours here, all is mine!... You shall not have one strip of land, not one spoonful of food, were you dying of hunger!” she vociferated with the rest of her failing strength; and, overcome at last by the intensity of her pains, she then fell to groaning and screaming most horribly. So she was carried to her bed. So many people had pressed in that the cabin was chock-full, and the passage as well; even the open windows were blocked up with heads. Yagna, at a loss what to do, was completely disconcerted. The old woman was now howling in frightful agony. No wonder: all her face and neck were scalded fearfully, her arms were burnt, her hair was singed off, and her eyes were all but sightless. Simon had gone out and was sitting in their little orchard close to the cabin-wall, his chin resting on his fists, stiff as a corpse, bruised all over, with clots of blood upon his face: he was listening to his mother’s groans. After a while, Matthew came up to him, saying, as he took him by the hand: “Come over to our hut. You have naught to do here now.” “Go I will not!... The land is mine, the land of my forefathers, my own: here will I remain!” he growled with sombre obstinacy. Neither arguments nor entreaties could prevail against him; he sat still, and spoke no more. Uncertain what to do, Matthew seated himself near him; but Andrew made a bundle of the clothing just thrown out and, placing it before his brother, said timidly: “With you, Simon! I’ll go away with you!” “O mothers of dogs!” cried the other, beating on the wall so hard that Andrew winced to hear him; “once for all I have said that I will not budge; and budge I will not!” Now they were again silent; dreadful shrieks were heard within. Ambrose had come to bandage the old woman. He put fresh unsalted butter on the scalds and burns, covering them with the leaves of certain herbs, over which again he put a layer of curdled milk, and bound up the whole with moist bandages. Having directed Yagna to pour some cold water on the clouts every now and then, he hurried away to Church, hearing that the Mass-bell was already beginning to tinkle. It was Mass-time indeed; the roads were swarming with people, carts were rattling by, and so many acquaintances sought to call on the patient that Yagna was at length compelled to close her door on her prying neighbours, and only Sikora’s wife remained with her. And now there was again quiet in the hut. Dominikova was mute. The still murmurous drone of the organ was just audible; and the voices of the singers, with their plaintive, soothing, quavering melody, were wafted along through the orchards.