It was from the rear of the house, and upstairs.  Jurgis bounded to a door of the room and flung it open; there was a ladder leading through a trap door to the garret, and he was at the foot of it when suddenly he heard a voice behind him, and saw Marija at his heels.  She seized him by the sleeve with her good hand, panting wildly, “No, no, Jurgis!  Stop!”

“What do you mean?” he gasped.

“You mustn’t go up,” she cried.

Jurgis was half-crazed with bewilderment and fright.  “What’s the matter?” he shouted.  “What is it?”

Marija clung to him tightly; he could hear Ona sobbing and moaning above, and he fought to get away and climb up, without waiting for her reply.  “No, no,” she rushed on.  “Jurgis!  You mustn’t go up!  It’s—­it’s the child!”

“The child?” he echoed in perplexity.  “Antanas?”

Marija answered him, in a whisper:  “The new one!”

And then Jurgis went limp, and caught himself on the ladder.  He stared at her as if she were a ghost.  “The new one!” he gasped.  “But it isn’t time,” he added, wildly.

Marija nodded.  “I know,” she said; “but it’s come.”

And then again came Ona’s scream, smiting him like a blow in the face, making him wince and turn white.  Her voice died away into a wail—­then he heard her sobbing again, “My God—­let me die, let me die!” And Marija hung her arms about him, crying:  “Come out!  Come away!”

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.  “Some one who knows!”

He seized Marija by the arm; she trembled, and her voice sank beneath a whisper as she replied, “We—­we have no money.”  Then, frightened at the look on his face, she exclaimed:  “It’s all right, Jurgis!  You don’t understand—­go away—­go away!  Ah, if you only had waited!”