Mr. Tiralla did nothing now but vegetate, sleep and drink, drink and sleep. He grew more and more dull-witted every day, shunned everybody, sat brooding for hours together with his glass in front of him, now and then had fits in which he would suddenly bellow like an ox that the butcher has just given a blow between the eyes with his axe, then fall down like the ox, clench his fists in rage or agony, foaming at the mouth, and with a rattling noise in his throat, roll his eyes, hit about him like a madman, and at last fall into a deep sleep, dead-tired. He had more than once lain on the ground so rigid and icy-cold that Marianna had buried her face in her hands and howled--now it was all over--and his wife had stood by him with her finger on her lips, her big eyes bigger than ever, and her neck stretched out, listening. But he always awoke again. And even if he felt stiff and weak, and complained of such pains in his limbs that he dragged his legs along as though paralyzed and could hardly walk, he still went on living. He, who had formerly been so stout, now shrivelled up and grew yellow and thin, and was always hoarse, and did not relish his food any longer. Mikolai noticed it, and made up his mind to send for a doctor to see his father, but his stepmother said what was the good of asking his advice? He would not be able to do anything after all. So the young fellow gave up the idea, and preferred to use the money it would have cost to have a doctor to buy a new spencer for Marianna, and a fur cap for himself for the autumn, so that he might find favour in the eyes of all the girls.
They cured Mr. Tiralla themselves. Strong wine was good in a case of great debility, and it was a medicine which Mr. Tiralla would not pour out of the window. And for the weakness in the legs nothing was so efficacious as a bottle of Pain Expeller when well rubbed in. You could buy it at the chemist's in Gnesen, and it would have a good effect if used morning and evening.
But after Marianna, who took care of Mr. Tiralla, had rubbed him the first time, she came running to her mistress in great tribulation. She had hardly uncorked the bottle, she said--true, it had smelt very good, sharp and pungent like strong gin--when the master tore it out of her hand, sniffed it, and then took such a quick, deep gulp of it, that she had been afraid it would harm him.
But the Pain Expeller did not harm Mr. Tiralla, as it could just as well be used internally as externally. So after that he took a gulp of it morning and evening, and sometimes during the day as well, when his legs required an extra rubbing.
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
The harvest had all been gathered in, and the wind swept across the stubble, carrying the loosened cobwebs along with it.
Mrs. Tiralla was standing in the gateway looking away over the empty fields at the signs of departing summer. She shivered and wrapped herself up in her shawl; she was filled with a strange feeling of uneasiness. The time had come which she had always feared; the swallows were sitting huddled together on the telegraph wires, gathering together for their flight. To-morrow would be St. Mary's Day, and then they would depart. And he?
The woman pressed her hands together and gazed with terrified eyes at the image of the Virgin in the niche. Martin had gone to confession, for there would be plenary indulgence at the great festival to-morrow. Oh, if only she, too, had gone! She felt sorry now that she had put it off. Then they could have walked to Starawieś and back again together. What a long time it was since they had walked together. He had not had time lately, they had been obliged to get on with the harvest, and he had worked so hard that he was too tired in the evening to do anything but sleep. How often she had fretted to think that she was not strong enough to work in the fields like Marianna and other girls, then she would have walked close behind him, would have stooped continually to pick up the corn he had mown, and would never have felt tired being so near him.
Now the harvest was over and the winter was drawing near, with its days when there is hardly anything to do, days in which you can loiter about and be so happy, tête-à-tête with the one you love, but which are awful, awful when you are alone. The woman shuddered.
Why should she always imagine that he intended to leave Starydwór? He had never said a word about it. Nobody had ever said a word about it to her, and still she felt sure of it. She had looked into his heart, and it had lost some of its joyousness. But was there any place in Starydwór where you could feel happy? No, no, no! Her very heart quivered. She often felt as if the old walls were going to fall down on her. And the old pines on the outskirts of the Przykop used to bend their tops at night in the direction of the farm, and groan as though the souls of those who could find no rest were moaning in their branches.