In the morning, however, he was up and out nearly an hour before the usual time. Jadvyga Marcinkus lived on the other side of the yards, beyond Halsted Street, with her mother and sisters, in a single basement room⁠—for Mikolas had recently lost one hand from blood-poisoning, and their marriage had been put off forever. The door of the room was in the rear, reached by a narrow court, and Jurgis saw a light in the window and heard something frying as he passed; he knocked, half expecting that Ona would answer.

Instead there was one of Jadvyga’s little sisters, who gazed at him through a crack in the door. “Where’s Ona?” he demanded; and the child looked at him in perplexity. “Ona?” she said.

“Yes,” said Jurgis, “isn’t she here?”

“No,” said the child, and Jurgis gave a start. A moment later came Jadvyga, peering over the child’s head. When she saw who it was, she slid around out of sight, for she was not quite dressed. Jurgis must excuse her, she began, her mother was very ill⁠—