"It is you,--it is you who are killing him," then cried the old man, his patience all exhausted. "I gave him back to you happy, vigorous, in good health; you have shut him up, destroyed his strength, and made him miserable and sad. The child loves me, and he has reason to love me. If he did not, he would be heartless; and you,--you do all you can to teach him ingratitude."
"Are you beside yourself, old man?" cried Jan Druzyna, in a rage. "What do you mean? How dare you answer? Go off; go off immediately, and never think of stepping your foot in this house again, for you will be driven out of it."
At these words Iermola turned pale, trembled, was seized with fright, and tried to speak; but words failed him.
"You drive me away," said he at last. "I shall go away, since you order me to do so; and my feet will never again cross your door-sill. Remember, remember, unjust man, that as you have taken the child from me, God, who judges and punishes, will take him away from you."
Having uttered this terrible imprecation, which the mother heard just as she was hastening to restrain her husband, and which caused her to recoil, frightened and fainting, Iermola, desperate and beside himself, making use of the remnant of his strength, fled down the stairway and crossed the great courtyard without turning his head to look behind him.
After a few moments Jan Druzyna recovered himself. He realized his wrong-doing; and the prophetic words of the old man began to weigh upon his heart. The sight of the old man, who was rapidly disappearing from sight in the distance, was a cruel reproach to him. Not knowing what to do, he rushed into the house and entered just in time to receive his fainting wife in his arms.
She wished to go for Radionek and send him after Iermola, to soothe his anger, and bring him back to her family, but when she entered the child's room she found him on the floor, cold and pale as marble, and before any one could revive him, Iermola was already far away.
When night came, the poor man dragged himself wearily to the house of his old friend the widow, to whom he wished to make his lament and tell everything. He had not seen her for a week, for every morning early he had started for Malyczki; he therefore did not know that the poor woman had been very ill for three days. He had scarcely put his foot inside the door when he saw that according to custom the glass had been taken out of the windows, a coffin placed in the middle of the room, and a little way off the brotherhood with their banners, the cross, and the priest with the book, were coming to the burial.
Then Iermola, like one waking from a dream, gazed a long, long time upon the coffin, knelt down, and began to pray.
"She too! she too!" he murmured. "Come, it is time for me to die." He felt the chill of evil foreboding run through his veins. "But first," said he, "we must go with her to the cemetery and throw a handful of dust on her coffin."