“He did not wait so long. No fool he, to submit to rot in prison!” “He could flee: he was single.” “A man saves himself as he can. See, I do not advise you in any wise: I only say what others have done. But Voytek Gayda of Volitsa came back from penal servitude only last Eastertide.—Ten years. Well, ’tis not a whole lifetime, and one can survive it.” “Ten years! O Lord God!” Antek murmured, clutching at his hair. “Yes; it was hard labour for that space of time.” “I could bear anything but that! God! I was there but for a few months, and came near losing my wits.” “Whereas ye could be beyond the seas in three weeks: ask Yankel.” “But it is so horribly far! How can I go—throw up everything—leave home, children, land, my village, and flee so awfully far—and for ever?” He was absolutely panic-stricken. “But yet so many have gone there of their own accord; and none of these ever dreamed of returning to this Paradise of ours.” “And I cannot bear even to think of it!” “True. But take a look at Voytek, and hear what he tells about his penal servitude: ye will find it still more unbearable to think of. Why, the man is not forty yet, but quite hoary, and bent, and tottering: he spits blood, and can hardly move, and all can see he is bound for the ‘priest’s byre’ soon.—But I need say no more: ye have your reason, and must decide.” And for the time he was silent; having sown trouble in the man’s mind, he could safely leave it to grow up in time, and bring forth the harvest he expected. So, having repaired the plough, he said lightly: “And now I am off to the dealers. Have your cart ready to carry the timber.—As for that other business, do not trouble. What is to be—is to be; and God is merciful.—I shall see you to-morrow evening.” Antek, however, could not forget his words. He had swallowed the bait of friendship, and it stuck in his throat, just as a hook sticks in the poor fish that has taken it and chokes. What pangs he felt—what sufferings he had to bear! “Ten years! Ten years! Oh, how can I ever bear ten years!” The very thought palsied and benumbed him. Arriving at his home, he trundled the cart into the barn, to have it in readiness for the next morning; but feeling a deep sense of weariness come over him—of the utter inutility of all his efforts—he only called to Pete, who was watering the horses at the well. “Grease the cart’s axle-trees, and have it in readiness for to-morrow. To-morrow you’ll have to bring timber from the forest to the sawmill here.” Pete, who cared but little for such hard work, swore violently when he heard the order. “Keep a civil tongue in your head, and do as I tell you.—Hanka, give the horses three measures of oats for provender to-morrow, and you, Pete, get them fresh clover from the meadow: they must have plenty to eat.” To Hanka’s questionings he gave only a mumbled answer, and presently went round to Matthew, with whom he was now on a very friendly footing.