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.  Then he clenched his hands and took a step toward her.  “Why do you lie to me?” he cried, fiercely.  “What are you doing that you have to lie to me?”

“Jurgis!” she exclaimed, starting up in fright.  “Oh, Jurgis, how can you?”

“You have lied to me, I say!” he cried.  “You told me you had been to Jadvyga’s house that other night, and you hadn’t.  You had been where you were last night—­somewheres downtown, for I saw you get off the car.  Where were you?”

It was as if he had struck a knife into her.  She seemed to go all to pieces.  For half a second she stood, reeling and swaying, staring at him with horror in her eyes; then, with a cry of anguish, she tottered forward, stretching out her arms to him.  But he stepped aside, deliberately, and let her fall.  She caught herself at the side of the bed, and then sank down, burying her face in her hands and bursting into frantic weeping.

There came one of those hysterical crises that had so often dismayed him.  Ona sobbed and wept, her fear and anguish building themselves up into long climaxes.  Furious gusts of emotion would come sweeping over her, shaking her as the tempest shakes the trees upon the hills; all her frame would quiver and throb with them—­it was as if some dreadful thing rose up within her and took possession of her, torturing her, tearing her.  This thing had been wont to set Jurgis quite beside himself; but now he stood with his lips set tightly and his hands clenched—­she might weep till she killed herself, but she should not move him this time—­not an inch, not an inch.  Because the sounds she made set his blood to running cold and his lips to quivering in spite of himself, he was glad of the diversion when Teta Elzbieta, pale with fright, opened the door and rushed in; yet he turned upon her with an oath.  “Go out!” he cried, “go out!” And then, as she stood hesitating, about to speak, he seized her by the arm, and half flung her from the room, slamming the door and barring it with a table.  Then he turned again and faced Ona, crying—­“Now, answer me!”