And the rats, too, that had remained quiet for so long in the cellar, had begun again to glide from corner to corner, and through Mrs. Tiralla's dreams like ghosts that were pursuing her. Mr. Tiralla had lived too long. If he were not there she would be happy, for then she could leave the place with Martin Becker, if he would not remain at Starydwór; even though she would have to go on her bare feet, how gladly she would do so!
Mrs. Tiralla looked with longing eyes towards Starawieś, whose church steeple was pointing to heaven like a finger. She would feel easier as soon as she saw Martin again. "For God's sake don't leave me, darling," she would beseech him. It was not his face that she loved so much that she could not live without it even for a few hours, it was not his laugh that had bewitched her, neither was it his light footstep, nor his slender, erect body, but it was his youth she wanted, his heart that was so young, so fresh, so pure, that it carried hers away too to where everything was bright and happy.
"Martin, Martin!" She stretched out her arms as she gave the beloved name into the care of the winds. Then she saw him coming. He was alone, for Mikolai, who had gone to confession with him, had stopped at the booths behind the church. He came quickly along the edge of the field, as though he were in a hurry. The woman smiled--ah, he was longing to see her, as she him. "Martin!" she called once more; a sweet welcome lay in her voice.
But he gave a start. About what was he thinking so gloomily? It was not his wont to frown like that and keep his eyes lowered. And he did not jump over the ditch that separated the field from the road, as he generally did in order to reach the farm gate more quickly; it looked almost as though his footsteps lagged, as he deliberately walked along to the crossing that led into the road further down.
She went to meet him. What did she care if the people from the settlement were standing at the crossroads near the Boża męka on their way back from church, staring at them open-mouthed? She seized hold of his hands and smiled at him. "What are you thinking of, dear?"
"I've been to confession," he said in a low voice, as he drew his hands away from her and put them behind his back, so that she could not get hold of them. He walked beside her, his head bent and without touching her.
How his face used to beam when he saw her again after an hour's separation! How he had wanted to touch her even though it were only her dress! What was it, what could it be? A sudden sense of hopelessness took possession of the woman. Yes, he was going away from her, he was trying to leave her. As she gazed into his face she could discover no sign of joy at seeing her again, but a struggle was depicted on his open features, which had never been able to hide anything. "I've been to confession," he had said, nothing more. Alas, alas, what had he confessed? What penance had been laid upon him?
She trembled as she pressed closer to him. "What are you going to do?" she panted.
"I'm going now," he whispered, shaken. "I'm going. Oh, if only I could!" He uttered a deep sigh.
His sigh gave her back her courage. She felt that it was difficult for him to leave, and that made her feel stronger. "You'll not go," she said, smiling amidst her tears, "you'll not leave me. I love you so dearly. And--aren't we husband and wife in the sight of God?" The words came to her like an inspiration. They would calm him--husband and wife in the sight of God. "And those whom God hath joined together let no man put asunder."