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mild words nor fondling nor imploring availed; Danusia recognized no person, and did not regain her senses. The one feeling which had mastered her whole being was a trembling terror, like that which birds show when captured. She would eat nothing in presence of any one, though, when food was brought, from the greedy looks which she cast at it hunger was evident, perhaps even hunger of long standing. When left alone she rushed to eat with the greed of a wild beast; but when Zbyshko entered the hut she sprang away and hid behind a bundle of dry hops in one corner. Vainly did her husband open his arms, vainly did he stretch his hands toward her, vainly did he implore, while repressing his tears. She would not leave that hiding-place even when the fire was stirred, and when by its light she could recognize Zbyshko. Memory seemed to have left her together with her reason. But he gazed at her and at her thin face, which had on it an expression of terror grown rigid; he gazed at her sunken eyes, at the torn rags of clothing which covered her, and the heart whined in the man from pain and rage at the thought of what kind of hands she had been in, and how they had treated her. At last such fierce and mad anger mastered him that he grasped his sword, rushed at Siegfried, and would have slain him surely had Matsko not seized his arm.

Uncle and nephew wrestled then almost as enemies, but the young man was so weakened by recent struggling with Arnold that the old knight overcame him and held his hand twisted.

"Art mad?" asked he.

"Let me go!" answered Zbyshko, gritting his teeth, "or the soul will tear apart in me."

"Let it tear apart! I will not free thee! Better break thy head on a tree-trunk than disgrace thyself and our family."

And pressing Zbyshko's hand as in an iron vice, he said, threateningly,—