She at first took no notice of him: the rushlight she was using to read by shed so faint a glimmer round, and the fir boughs concealed him so well that he could not be seen. It was only at the Elevation, when, going down on her knees, she beat her breast and bowed her head in adoration, that she happened to look in his direction—and her heart suddenly stopped beating, and she was petrified with joy.
She durst not look a second time. What she had seen was but a dream to her; a vision—a “false creation,” and no more.
She closed her eyes and remained long on her knees, with head bowed down, and body bent forward—almost beside herself with excitement. At last, however, she seated herself and looked him straight in the face.
Yes, it was really he—Antek—his face very haggard and bronzed; and those eyes of his, so bold and daring, now looked into hers with such sorrowful tenderness that her heart was smitten through and through with affectionate apprehension, and the tears came to her eyes.
Like the other women there, she sat stiffly, apparently reading in her book in which she saw not a single letter, nor even the page before her. What she did see was his face—his eyes, so sad, so full of appeal, flashing, blazing, bright as stars, coming between her and the rest of the world. She felt lost and helpless—and he was kneeling by her side; and she heard his quick breath and felt it hot, and was aware of the dear, yet awful might which went forth from him, seized upon her heart, bound it to him as with cords, thrilling her at once with pleasure and dismay—with a vertiginous shuddering, and a cry for love so potent that her every limb quaked, and her heart beat wildly like some poor bird nailed in sport by the wings to a barn-door!
The second mass was now over, and the people were all singing together, and praying and sighing and weeping; but these two, as if beyond this world, heard nothing, saw nothing, thought of nothing but each other.
Dread—joy—affection—remembrance—enchantment—desire!—all these feelings alternately glowed within them, passing from one to the other, and knitting them in one, so that they felt themselves one being, and their two hearts throbbed in unison, and one fire flamed in the eyes of each.
Antek came yet a little nearer, leaned his shoulder against her hip (and a hot flush surged over her, and she was nigh to swooning); and as she knelt again, he flung these words—words that might have been brands of fire—into her ear:
“Yagna! Yagna!”
She shook, and almost fell fainting; his voice pierced her through and through with keen rapture—with a sharp-edged delight.
“Come out some evening … come out … behind the haystack. … I shall be waiting there every night. … Fear not. … I must speak to you. … ’Tis urgent.—Come.” This he said in an impassioned whisper, very close to her—so close that his breath was like a flame upon her face.
She replied nothing: the words stuck in her throat. Her heart was palpitating so violently that she thought everyone near her must have heard it. But she made a gesture as if she would go that very instant where he wished, where her love was urging her … behind the haystack.
The church was resounding with the joyful thunder of the carols, when she came a little to her senses, and looked round at the people and the sanctuary.
Antek was there no more. He had withdrawn unnoticed, and was slowly walking out into the churchyard.
There he stood in the frost a long time, beneath the belfry, that he might cool down a little and breathe some fresh air. But his bosom was so overflowing with gladness, there was in him such an exultation, such a triumph of power, that he never even heard the chant that welled out from the open church door, nor the faint echoes which repeated it from the bells above. No, he took no heed of anything whatsoever. …
Seizing a handful of snow, and swallowing it greedily, he leapt over the wall and into the road—rushing away, out on to the countryside, wayward as the blast.
V
The Boryna family returned from church very late; and but a few minutes later, they were all in bed, snoring loud. All except Yagna alone. Wearied though she was, she did not fall asleep. She turned on her pillow, she even threw the blanket over her head: it was of no avail; sleep would not come. In its stead there came a sort of nightmare, and fell upon her, and crushed her with its weight. She could neither breathe, nor cry out, nor jump from her bed. There she lay, numb, drowsy, in that half-awake state when the mind spins out memories all the while and goes over the world with them—rising far above the earth, arraying itself in the sun’s splendour, and yet no more capable of any activity in itself than is a reflection in clear wind-rippled water.
Thus it was with her: though she did not fall asleep, yet her mind was wandering about like a bird through the days of the dead past, through those times that were now no more, and lived only in memory. She was back again in the church, with Antek kneeling beside her, and speaking—speaking—and burning her with those eyes of flame, and filling her with a sweet torture and dismay! … And then appeared the flushed and threatening face of the priest, and his hand stretched out over the people … and the lighted tapers. … Then came other reminiscences—old ones: her meetings with Antek … their kisses—their embraces … till she was full of such a fever of excitement and delectation that she stretched and pressed herself down on the pillow with all her might. … And then, once more, she heard, clear and distinct, the words: “Come out! Come out!” And it seemed to her that,
