'Drive where I tell you!'
Slimak leant on the fence, as in happier days.
'How could he have known about me?' he reflected. 'Is a priest like God who knows everything? They would not have brought him word from the village. It must have been good old Jonah. But now they will not dare to look askance at me, because his Reverence himself has come to see me. If he could only take the sin of my sending Maciek and the child to their death from me, I shouldn't be afraid of anything.'
Presently the priest returned.
'Are you there, Slimak?' he called out. 'Gryb will come to you to-morrow. Make it up with him and don't quarrel any more. I have sent to town for a coffin and am arranging for the funeral.'
'Oh Redeemer!' sighed Slimak.
'Now, Pawel! drive on as fast as the horses will go,' cried the priest.
He pulled out his repeater watch: it was a quarter to ten.
'I shall be late,' he murmured, 'but not too late for everything; there will be time for some fun yet.'
As soon as the sledge had melted into the darkness, and silence again brooded over his home, an irresistible desire for sleep seized Slimak. He dragged himself to the stable, but he hesitated. He did not wish to lie down once more by the side of his dead wife, and went into the cowshed. Uneasy dreams pursued him; he dreamt that his dead wife was trying to force herself into the cowshed. He got up and looked into the stable. Slimakowa was lying there peacefully; two faint beams of light were reflected from the eyes which had not yet been closed.
A sledge stopped at the gate and Gryb came into the yard; his grey head shook and his yellowish eyes moved uneasily. He was followed by his man, who was carrying a large basket.