She dragged him back into the kitchen, half carrying him, for he had gone all to pieces. It was as if the pillars of his soul had fallen in⁠—he was blasted with horror. In the room he sank into a chair, trembling like a leaf, Marija still holding him, and the women staring at him in dumb, helpless fright.

And then again Ona cried out; he could hear it nearly as plainly here, and he staggered to his feet. “How long has this been going on?” he panted.

“Not very long,” Marija answered, and then, at a signal from Aniele, she rushed on: “You go away, Jurgis⁠—you can’t help⁠—go away and come back later. It’s all right⁠—it’s⁠—”

“Who’s with her?” Jurgis demanded; and then, seeing Marija hesitating, he cried again, “Who’s with her?”

“She’s⁠—she’s all right,” she answered. “Elzbieta’s with her.”

“But the doctor!” he panted. “Someone who knows!”