Had not every word that evening been a stone thrust at her? What was she to do? What was to become of her? Once entangled in the net of sin, every effort we make to get out of it seems to make us flounder deeper in its fatal meshes.
All these thoughts tortured and harassed her, burning tears were ever trickling down her cheeks, her weary head was aching as she tossed about, unable to go off to sleep, unable to find rest; nay, a creepiness had come over all her limbs, as if a million ants were going up and down her legs.
How glad she was at last to see through the curtainless window the first glimmer of dawn dispel the darkness of the night—the long, dreary, unending night.
"You have had a bad night," said Mara. "I heard you turning and tossing about, but I thought it better not to speak to you. I suppose it was the bed. I'm like you, I always lose my sleep in a new bed."
"Oh, no!" said Milena. "I was anxious."
"About your husband? Perhaps he got drunk and went off to sleep."
As soon as Milena was dressed she wanted to go off, but Mara would not allow her.
"First, your husband said he'd come and fetch you, so you must stay with us till he comes; then, remember you promised to help me with my embroidery, so I can't let you go."
"No, I'm too anxious about Radonic. You know, he's so hasty."
"Yes, he's a brute, I know."