Time went by slowly, till—when the sun was highest—all was most silent, and only a stork clattered along, skimming the ground in its low flight, or crows on the watch to steal away a gosling would fly over the pond, arousing the ganders’ angry screams.
Hanka went on with her prayers, watching meantime over the little ones, or going in to see her father-in-law, who lay motionless and staring glassily as ever; little by little ripening for death, like an ear of corn in the sun, awaiting the reaper’s sickle. … He could recognize no one. Even when calling for Yagna and taking her hand, his eyes were looking far away. But Hanka fancied that the sound of her own voice made him move his lips, while his eyes expressed the wish to say something.
It was a pitiful sight indeed, she thought, when she came thus to visit him.
“Lord! who would have expected it? Such an able farmer, so clever, so wealthy a man! and now lying here like a tree smitten by a thunderbolt, with branches still leafy, but already inevitably given over to death!—not dead, yet no longer living.
“And indeed, though the God of mercy is the Almighty One, still the doom of man is hard, and not to be escaped. …”
But it was now past noon, and the cows had to be milked; so she heaved a sigh, and ended her prayers. Sighs were but sighs: work was duty, and must come first.
On her return with brimming pails, she found everybody back home again. Yuzka told her about the sermon, and the folk that were at church; and presently the room became very noisy; for she had brought with her several girls of her own age, who set about swallowing the buds from the consecrated palm-boughs, which were believed to be a preservative against sore throats. They laughed a good deal, more than one of them finding the downy catkins impossible to get down (they made them cough so) unless with the aid of drinks of water, or thumps upon the back: which latter remedy Vitek was very willing to administer.
Yagna did not come in for dinner; she had been seen walking out with her mother and the blacksmith.—They had scarce got through the meal, when Roch come in. All welcomed him warmly, feeling that closer ties than those of blood united him to them. He had for each a kind word, and a kiss on the crown of the head; but he would take no food. He was exceedingly tired, and glanced uneasily about the room, Hanka following his glances, but not venturing to ask questions.
Without looking at her, he said in a whisper: “I have seen Antek.”
She started up from the chest she was sitting on, and the strong emotion which gripped her heart prevented her from saying a word.
“He’s quite well, and in good spirits. A warder was present; but I had speech with him for at least an hour.”
“Is he—is he in irons?” she asked, in a strangled voice.
“The idea! No more than the others. … He is not ill-used; do not frighten yourself.”
“But Koziol says they are flogged there, and chained to the walls.”
“It may be so in other cases; but Antek told me no one had touched him.”
She clasped her hands with joy, and her face lit up.
“On my departure, he said that ye had without fail to kill the pig before Easter: he too would like to taste the Hallow-fare.”30
“Alas! the poor man is starving there, no doubt,” she remarked, plaintively.
“But,” Yuzka ventured to put in, “Father told us that, when fat, it was to be sold.”
“He did; only,” Hanka said inflexibly, “now that Antek orders it to be killed, his will takes the place of his father’s.”
“He also sends you word,” Roch continued, “that you are to do the needful as concerns all the fieldwork.—I had told him what a good beginning ye had made.”
“And what did he say to that?” asked Hanka, radiant.
“He said that ye were able to do whatever ye chose to do.”
“Yes, I shall be able—I shall!” she cried, her eyes bright with intense resolve.
“But will they set him free soon?” she inquired anxiously.
“Directly after Easter, it may be, but perhaps somewhat later. At any rate, as soon as the inquiry is over. It drags on so,” he added, with partial truth, avoiding her eyes, “because the accused are so numerous—the whole village, in fact.”
“Did he ask about the house … or the children … or me?”
She longed also to add: “or Yagna?” But she durst not put the question so openly; nor had she the art of drawing him on to tell her what she wanted. Moreover, it was now too late: the news of Roch’s coming had spread throughout the village, and the bells had not yet tolled for Evensong, when the women came crowding in to hear the news about their absent ones.
Sitting down near the entrance outside the cabin, he told them all he knew about each one in particular. He had nothing distressing to relate; but the women who heard him began presently to whimper, and even to weep aloud.
He afterwards went out into the village, entering pretty nearly every hut. With his saintlike figure and his long white beard, and the words of consolation which he uttered, he filled every cabin with light and comfort and hope. Yet their tears flowed still more abundantly, and their feelings of sorrow revived, and they were depressed by the memory of past sufferings.
The day before, Klembova had told Agata that Lipka now resembled an open grave. She had spoken the truth. The place looked as in the days of old, when the plague had passed over it, and most of the inhabitants had gone to their graves, or as when the lands had been devastated by war: so that the cottages were
