Little by little he rose, and looked about him. Suddenly he
trembled in every limb, as though he were on the scaffold: his hair rose
upon his head, . . . and he laughed such a laugh as pierced Pidorka's heart
with fear. "I have remembered, remembered!" he cried in terrible joy;
and, swinging a hatchet round his head, he flung it at the old woman
with all his might. The hatchet penetrated the oaken door two vershok
(three inches and a half). The old woman disappeared; and a child of
seven in a white blouse, with covered head, stood in the middle of the
cottage. . . . The sheet flew off. "Ivas!" cried Pidorka, and ran to him;
but the apparition became covered from head to foot with blood, and
illumined the whole room with red light. . . . She ran into the passage in
her terror, but, on recovering herself a little, wished to help him; in
vain! the door had slammed to behind her so securely that she could not
open it. People ran up, and began to knock: they broke in the door, as
though there was but one mind among them. The whole cottage was full of
smoke; and just in the middle, where Petrus had stood, was a heap of
ashes, from which smoke was still rising. They flung themselves upon the
sacks: only broken potsherds lay there instead of ducats.
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