She married him. She felt as if she were in a pit with inaccessible¹ sides from which she could never get out, and all kinds of misfortunes were hanging over her head, like huge rocks, which would fall on the first occasion. Her husband gave her the impression of a man whom she had robbed, and who would find it out some day or other. And then she thought of her child, who was the cause of her misfortunes, but who was also the cause of all her happiness on earth, and whom she went to see twice a year, though she came back more unhappy each time.

 

But she gradually grew accustomed to her life, her fears were allayed², her heart was at rest, and she lived with an easier mind, though still with some vague fear floating in it. And so years went on, until the child was six. She was almost happy now, when suddenly the farmer's temper grew very bad.

 

For two or three years he seemed to have been nursing some secret anxiety, to be troubled by some care, some mental disturbance³, which was gradually increasing. He remained sitting at table after dinner, with his head in his hands, sad and devoured⁴ by sorrow. He always spoke⁵ hastily, sometimes even brutally⁶, and it even seemed as if he had a grudge⁷ against his wife, for at times he answered her roughly, almost angrily.

 

One day, when a neighbor's boy came for some eggs, and she spoke rather crossly to him, as she was very busy, her husband suddenly came in and said to her in his unpleasant voice: “If that were your own child you would not treat him so.” She was hurt and did not reply, and then she went back into the house, with all her grief awakened⁸ afresh; and at dinner the farmer neither spoke to her nor looked at her, and he seemed to hate her, to despise her, to know something about the affair at last. In consequence she lost her composure, and did not venture to remain alone with him after the meal was over, but left the room and hastened to the church.

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