The old woman herself came to open it. She had shrunk all up with her rheumatism since Jurgis had seen her last, and her yellow parchment face stared up at him from a little above the level of the doorknob. She gave a start when she saw him. “Is Ona here?” he cried, breathlessly.

“Yes,” was the answer, “she’s here.”

“How⁠—” Jurgis began, and then stopped short, clutching convulsively at the side of the door. From somewhere within the house had come a sudden cry, a wild, horrible scream of anguish. And the voice was Ona’s.

For a moment Jurgis stood half-paralyzed with fright; then he bounded past the old woman and into the room.