But the old man heard and, raising himself up in bed, gave him so terrible a glance as he pointed to the door, that Michael shrank back with a curse and rejoined Magda, who was weeping outside. But, quickly recovering his self-possession, he slipped round as close as he could to the window that was just by the head of Boryna’s bed, and did all he could to make out what was said within. After the smith had gone, “Sit down here, by my side,” Boryna commanded Hanka. Greatly moved, she obeyed him. “You will find some money in the larder: hide it, lest it be snatched from you.” “Where is it?” she asked, trembling with excitement. “In amongst the corn.” He spoke distinctly, stopping at every word. Mastering her fear, she looked into his eyes, which glistened strangely. “Defend Antek ... rather sell half the property.... He must not be forsaken....” He said no more, but fell back on to the pillow, trying to stammer a word or two and lift himself up, but uselessly; and now his eyes were quenched and dim. Hanka, terrified, cried out; and both the others rushed in, ministering to the sick man, and gave him some water to drink. But he did not come to himself, and lay, as he had lain, stiff and motionless, with staring eyes that seemed to note nothing around him. They sat long with him, both women silent, but in tears. Dusk fell, the room grew dark, and they went out. Only so much remained of day as empurpled the mill-pond from the last glow in the West. Turning round upon Hanka, the smith asked her: “What has he told you?” “What ye both have heard.” “But what said he when alone with you?” “Nothing else.” “Do not enrage me, Hanka, or you’ll rue it!” “What do I care for threats of yours?” “The old man put something in your hand,” the smith added, throwing out a feeler. “Ye may go seek it in the dunghill, then.” He rushed at her and might have done her some injury, but that Yagustynka, who came up just then, said after her sour fashion: “Oho! you both get on so lovingly that the whole village is talking about you two!” With an imprecation, he went his way. The night had come—starless, with a wind that rustled soft and sad through the trees, presaging a change of weather. There was light and noise in Hanka’s room, supper preparing at the crackling fire, elderly women holding forth with Yagustynka upon various matters, and Yuzka sitting outside with Nastka and with Yasyek Topsy-turvy; while Pete was drawing out of his violin such wailing notes as made their hearts feel sorrowful. Hanka alone was unable to stay seated, and, continually pondering over Boryna’s words, looked again and again round into the room where he lay. “Pete, have done!” she cried. “Why, it will presently be Holy Monday, and still you fiddle and fiddle!—’Tis a sin!” She scolded the man, simply because she was so upset, and fell nigh weeping. He gave over, and they all went into the big room.