"Oh, how I'm suffering," she had cried, in a sudden outburst of grief and fury, and had run up and down the room with both hands flung high above her head. She had come to a standstill close in front of him, and her black eyes had blazed. "What would you say if I ran away from him? Away, anywhere, over the fields, only away."
The passion with which she had uttered those words had terrified him. Away, away over the fields, but where would she go?
"That's for you to tell me." Then she had given a loud, scornful laugh; in spite of all his cleverness he did not know where she was to go either. There really was nobody, nobody who could advise her. What would he say if she went into the Przykop into the deep morass, where the pool under the drooping birches was just now as deep as any lake on account of the rainy spring? If she went into it up to her mouth, or even a little further, and never more appeared, what would he say then? Would he shed a tear in memory of her, a little forget-me-not in his book of memories?
"God forbid!" he had exclaimed, seizing hold of her hand in sudden fear. How could she say such things, even have such thoughts? She was so good, so beautiful, there was still much happiness in store for her.
"Never, so long as Mr. Tiralla is alive!"
"But he won't go on living for ever."
Then she had flashed a glance at him, a swift and strangely scrutinizing glance. It was as though she had wanted to confide something to him, but dared not. Had he said that without thinking, or did he really mean it?
Mrs. Tiralla had shrunk back into herself again in a sudden fit of shyness. But she could not bear to keep silent, she simply longed to speak to somebody about it all. If only she could--dared--say to him, "In a secret chamber of the loft there stands an old chest, and in that old chest I've hidden something." But then if he should say, "Poison!" and should shudder with horror when he said it? She eyed him narrowly through her lowered lids, whilst her long lashes slowly fanned her pale cheeks like a pair of weary wings.
But the young man saw nothing but her beauty, his eyes were fixed on the mental vision of the charms which her enamoured husband had described to him. How he pitied this beautiful woman. What a misfortune to be chained to such a man. She wanted to run away, to take her own life? Oh, how dreadful for such a beautiful creature to be sick of life. That overbearing fellow, that scoundrel! Psia krew, why couldn't he die? Then she would be free.
He had not meant anything when he had said before, "But he won't go on living for ever." It had merely been a phrase, used in order to console the poor woman. But now those words seemed to express something desirable, something really necessary. Was there any reason why the man should go on living for ever? An all-wise Providence had no doubt seen what was happening and would probably remove this fellow, who would leave no vacant place behind him, and would be mourned for by no one. How easily he could be carried off by illness, brought on by a cold in the spring, or by excessive eating. No, Mr. Tiralla could not go on living for ever. Besides, he was much older than she. Only have patience, he would not go on living for ever. He must not, no, by all the saints--and this certainty impressed itself firmly on the schoolmaster's mind--Mr. Tiralla should not go on living for ever!