Vainly the Barin's exclaiming and questioning, Jacob is pale, and he shakes like a leaf, Evilly smiles at entreaties and promises: "Am I a murderer, then, or a thief? No, Barin, _you_ shall not die. There's another way!" Now he has climbed to the top of a pine, Fastened the reins to the summit, and crossed himself, Turning his face to the sun's bright decline. Thrusting his head in the noose ... he has hanged himself! 210 Horrible! Horrible! See, how he sways Backwards and forwards.... The Barin, unfortunate, Shouts for assistance, and struggles and prays. Twisting his head he is jerking convulsively, Straining his voice to the utmost he cries, All is in vain, there is no one to rescue him, Only the mischievous echo replies. Gloomy the hollow now lies in its winding-sheet, Black is the night. Hear the owls on the wing, Striking the earth as they pass, while the horses stand 220 Chewing the leaves, and their bells faintly ring. Two eyes are burning like lamps at the train's approach, Steadily, brightly they gleam in the night, Strange birds are flitting with movements mysterious, Somewhere at hand they are heard to alight. Straight over Jacob a raven exultingly Hovers and caws. Now a hundred fly round! Feebly the Barin is waving his crutch at them, Merciful Heaven, what horrors abound! So the poor Barin all night in the carriage lies, Shouting, from wolves to protect his old bones. 231 Early next morning a hunter discovers him, Carries him home, full of penitent groans: "Oh, I'm a sinner most infamous! Punish me!" Barin, I think, till you rest in your grave, One figure surely will haunt you incessantly, Jacob the Faithful, your dutiful slave. "What sinners! What sinners!" The peasants are saying, "I'm sorry for Jacob, 240 Yet pity the Barin, Indeed he was punished! Ah, me!" Then they listen To two or three more tales As strange and as fearful, And hotly they argue On who must be reckoned The greatest of sinners: "The publican," one says, And one, "The Pomyeshchick," 250 Another, "The peasant." This last was a carter, A man of good standing And sound reputation, No ignorant babbler. He'd seen many things In his life, his own province Had traversed entirely. He should have been heard. The peasants, however, 260 Were all so indignant They would not allow him To speak. As for Klimka, His wrath is unbounded, "You fool!" he is shouting. "But let me explain."