The cow, swishing her tail as she drank, struck him more than once in the face, until he caught it in a firm grasp. Then he bent down over Yagna still lower, and whispered again:
“Sleep I cannot—nor eat—nor do aught without you, O Yagna!”
“Things are not easy for me either.”
“Yagna! did you ever think of me at all?”
“Was I able not to think? You arise in my thoughts always. … I know no longer what to do.—Is it true that ye did smite Matthew?”
“It is. He lied, slandering you: I have stopped his mouth. … And I will deal likewise with anyone who does so.”
The cabin-door slammed: someone came out into the yard at a run, straight for the cow-house. Antek had but just time to leap the manger and crouch there.
“Yuzka ordered me to take the tubs back; we must get the food ready for the swine,” said Vitek.
“Take—take them all!” she answered, huskily.
“Nay; Lysula has not finished hers yet; I shall return for it.” He hurried away, and they heard him bang the house-door.
Antek emerged from his hiding-place.
“He is coming back, that imp! I shall go to the haystack and wait. … Will you come to me, Yagna?”
“I fear. …”
“Come, oh, come … if but for an hour or so.—I shall wait for you,” he entreated.
He came behind her, still sitting beside the cow, threw an arm round her breast in a strong embrace, bent her head back and kissed her mouth with so powerful an intake of the breath, that she herself could not breathe. Her arms fell to her sides, the pail rolled along the ground. But, straining up towards him, she kissed him back with such wild vehemence that they both closed as in a death-grapple; each fell into the other’s arms; and so they remained awhile locked in that one mad, frenzied, delirious kiss.
At last he tore himself away, and slunk out of the byre.
She would now have sprung after him, but he was on the threshold and vanished like a shadow into the night. Yet still she could hear his muffled whisper, and it wrought on her senses with such fiery and commanding power that she looked around, astounded to see him no more. No, he was not there—only the kine, chewing the cud and whisking their tails. She looked out into the yard, where—beyond that threshold—reigned night impenetrable, and silence was lord, save where the forge-hammers beat and clinked afar.—But he had been there, had stood by her side, had hugged, had kissed her. Her lips were yet burning, the flame was running through her still, and an unuttered shout of gladness echoed within her heart.—“Antek!” she cried aloud; and the sound of her own voice brought her partly back to her senses.—She set to milking as fast as she could, but was so dazed that she more than once sought the udder between the beast’s forelegs, and was so beside herself with gladness that she never knew her face was wet with tears till, as she returned to the cabin, the cold air blew on her cheeks. She brought the milk, but forgot to strain it out, and ran round to the other side of the hut under the impression that she had something urgent to do. … What it was, she could not remember: the one thought that filled her mind was that Antek waited for her by the hayrick. She took a few steps about the room, threw her apron over her head … and went out.
Very quickly did she round the hut, gliding along outside the windows, to the narrow passage between orchard and shed, which was nearly roofed over with drooping snow-laden branches that bent so low, she had to stoop down as she passed.
Antek awaited her by the stile; he leaped forward, ravenous as a wolf, and half carried, half dragged her to the rick near the roadside.
But that day they were doomed to disappointment. They had scarce got into the rick and joined lips in a kiss, when, stern and loud, Boryna’s voice resounded.
“Yagna! Yagna!”
They sprang apart, as if struck with lightning. Antek darted away, and ran crouching along the fence; Yagna hastened back to the courtyard. The boughs had torn her apron off her head, and she was covered all over with snow; but this she did not remark. She rubbed her face with snow, took up an armful of firewood from the shed, and walked deliberately into the cabin.
Old Boryna eyed her askance and somewhat strangely.
“I went to see about Sivula; she is lying down and lowing.”
“But where have ye got covered with so much snow?”
“Where?—Oh, there’s a lot of it hanging like beards down from the eaves; if you do but touch them, down they come!” She gave the explanation jauntily, but turned her face away from the fire, lest he should see her flaming cheeks.
But she could not hoodwink Boryna. Without looking her straight in the face, he could perceive very well that she was blushing crimson, and that her eyes glowed feverishly. A sort of vague uncertain suspicion crept into his mind, and his jealousy snarled and crouched within him, like a dog ready to bite. He pondered and thought very long, and at last concluded that Matthew must have met her and pushed her against the fence.
Nastka coming in just then, he thought he would get her to speak.
“Ah! What have I heard?—Your Matthew is well and up by now, as it seems?”
“Well and up, indeed? Alas!”
“Someone told me he had met him in the village this evening.”
“ ’Tis all mere talk. Matthew can hardly move, certainly not rise from his bed. He spits no more blood, though; Ambrose cupped him today, and prepared him a drink—lard melted in strong vodka—and they are both taking the medicine together so
