He afterwards went out into the village, entering pretty nearly every hut. With his saint-like figure and his long white beard, and the words of consolation which he uttered, he filled every cabin with light and comfort and hope. Yet their tears flowed still more abundantly, and their feelings of sorrow revived, and they were depressed by the memory of past sufferings. The day before, Klembova had told Agata that Lipka now resembled an open grave. She had spoken the truth. The place looked as in the days of old, when the plague had passed over it, and most of the inhabitants had gone to their graves, or as when the lands had been devastated by war: so that the cottages were desolate and filled only with women’s laments, the wailing of children, complaints, mourning, and that sharp torture which is the reminiscence of agonies gone by. What they were suffering now baffles description. Three weeks had passed; and Lipka, instead of calming down, felt the injury and wrong done increasing every day, nay, every morning and noon and nightfall: whether within the huts or without, cries of indignation resounded, and a craving for revenge, like a hellish weed sown by Satan, sprang up and flourished in every heart. And many a fist was clenched, many a reckless word said, and many an imprecation thundered forth. So that Roch’s words to soothe them—just as a stick thoughtlessly thrust into a heap of dying embers may make them burst into flame again—had only the effect of rousing the smouldering bitterness and the memory of injustice committed.—That afternoon, but few went to Vespers. They gathered in groups filling the enclosures, or out upon the roads, and even in the tavern, full of grief and uttering fierce curses. Hanka alone felt a little comforted. Her husband’s praises had filled her with strength and glad expectation, and she was eager to work and show him that she was equal to the emergency—eager beyond all expression. The other women had left the place; the smith’s wife had gone to sit at Boryna’s bedside; and Hanka went to the sty with Yuzka. They let the pig out: it was so fat that it fell wallowing in the dirt, and refused to stir any more. “Give it nothing else to eat to-day, so that its bowels may be cleansed.” “’Twas well, then, that I forgot to feed it this afternoon.” “Good: if so, we shall kill it to-morrow. Have you told Yagustynka to come?” “I have. She says she will be here in the evening.” “Dress yourself and run to Ambrose. He must come here to-morrow after Mass at the latest, and bring with him all things needful.” “But will he be able?—His Reverence has said two priests will come hither to-morrow to hear confessions.” “He knows well I’ll give him vodka in plenty: he’ll find time, be sure.—No one can kill a pig, and cut it up, and season it in such good style as he.... And Yagustynka likewise will be of use.” “Then may I go to town early in the morning for the salt and other seasonings?”