between it and the stream grew tall reeds, almost to the height of a man. At the summit of the ravine were visible the remains of a wattled fence, revealing that a garden had once existed there; in front of it, the broad leaves of the burdock, from among which rose pig-weed and blackthorn, and sunflowers, rearing their heads high above all the rest. Here the Tatár flung off her high-heeled slippers, and went bare-foot, gathering up her gown carefully, for the spot was marshy, and soaked with water. Forcing their way through the reeds, they halted before a pile of faggots and brushwood. Pushing aside the brushwood, they found a sort of earthen arch—an opening not much larger than the mouth of an oven. The Tatár woman bent her head, and went first. Andríi followed, bending as low as he could, in order to pass with his sacks; and both soon found themselves in total darkness.
