Ona was sitting on the bed. She turned a startled look upon him as he entered. He closed the door in Elzbieta’s face, and went toward his wife. “Where have you been?” he demanded.

She had her hands clasped tightly in her lap, and he saw that her face was as white as paper, and drawn with pain. She gasped once or twice as she tried to answer him, and then began, speaking low, and swiftly, “Jurgis, I⁠—I think I have been out of my mind. I started to come last night, and I could not find the way. I walked⁠—I walked all night, I think, and⁠—and I only got home⁠—this morning.”

“You needed a rest,” he said, in a hard tone. “Why did you go out again?”

He was looking her fairly in the face, and he could read the sudden fear and wild uncertainty that leaped into her eyes. “I⁠—I had to go to⁠—to the store,” she gasped, almost in a whisper, “I had to go⁠—”

“You are lying to me,” said Jurgis.