“What is to be done?” she asked mechanically.
“There is something,” he whispered.
She faced him suddenly.
“Pay down enough money, and he will be released even before the trial. And then he can escape. Even to ‘Hamerica’! They will not catch him there.”
“Lord! to ‘Hamerica’!” she cried, appalled.
“Hush! I tell you in great secrecy. ’Tis what the Squire said to me. ‘Let him get away,’ he said; ‘ten years of Siberia will ruin any man’s life.’ … That he told me but yesterday.”
“What! and flee from our village … our children … our lands?” It was the only misfortune that appealed to her.
“Pay the sum wanted, and Antek will do all the rest.—Give it to them.”
“But where—where am I to get it? … O my God! … Away to the very back of the world. … So far from everyone!”
“They ask for five hundred roubles. Why, ye have father-in-law’s money: take it and pay; we shall reckon together later—only save Antek!”
She saw the trap, and started to her feet.
“Obstinate dog! Always on the same trail!” she said, about to leave him.
“This is foolishness!” he exclaimed, losing patience. “ ’Twas but a word that escaped me. Must ye take offence at a word, when your man is rotting in jail?—Oh, he shall know how much ye do to set him free!”
She sat down again, quite bewildered.
He talked to her for some time about “Hamerica,” and folk he knew that had gone there, who wrote letters home, and even sent their families money. Antek might get away at once; Michael knew a Jew who had wafted many a one over the frontier. Multitudes got away thus. Hanka, too, might follow later, without attracting attention. Gregory would return from the army, and repay all from the inheritance; or if he could not, a purchaser would readily be found.
“Take ye counsel of the priest,” he concluded; “he will approve my plan, as ye will see. I have only urged you to do right, and for no profit of my own.—But breathe not a word of this to anyone else, or the gendarmes will know of it. And then he would not get out of prison at all, and be perchance put in irons into the bargain,” he concluded grimly.
“But where is the money to come from that will set him free?” she said, with a groan.
“I know a man in Modlitsa who would lend it—at high interest. Oh, the money can be found! I’ll lay my life I could manage that!”
For a long while he went on counselling her, and at last slipped away abruptly. She, lost in thought, took no note of his going.
Everybody else had gone to bed, except Vitek, who seemed to be waiting for his mistress. The moon went up through the heavens, a silver reaping-hook moving athwart the deep expanse. Over the meadows crept white sheets of mist; above the rye was hanging the dust of its saffron pollen; moveless as an ice-field, the millpond glittered amongst the trees. Broken by the nightingales’ rills of bubbling music, the silence made the ears ring and tingle.
“Heavens! To flee one’s village, and one’s land—and all!” she thought, the same idea ever returning; and her dread grew more intense, and she felt her trembling heart shrink in the clutch of pain.
Lapa then howled aloud; the birds sang no more, and the gales whistled and moaned among the dark shadows of the branches.
“Lapa now sees Kuba’s ghost!” Vitek muttered, and crossed himself with awe.
“Foolish one! go to bed!” said Hanka.
“But indeed he does come, and looks after the horses, and brings them their fodder. Aye, and not once only!”
She took no notice of his words. All was now plunged in deep stillness; and there she sat, repeating, as one paralysed with appalling anguish: “To flee a whole world away!—And forever, merciful Jesus!—Forever!”
IX
The green Whitsuntide boughs, decorating the cabin-doors, had not yet quite withered, when one morning Roch dropped most unexpectedly into the village.
It was only after hearing Mass, however, and having a long talk with the priest, that he went round to the village. There were but few people about, most of them being occupied tumping their potato-plants; but when, with its usual speed, the news had gone about, a good many hastened to bid him welcome after his long absence.
He came, according to his wont, slowly, leaning on his staff, but with head erect, and wearing the same grey capote and the same rosary about his neck. The wind blew his grey hair loose, but his thin features were gleaming with kindness and geniality.
He gazed around him, smiling gladly upon all he saw, with a special greeting for everybody; patting the little ones’ heads, and accosting the women with great pleasure to find everything in its former state.
When they inquired curiously of him where he had been so long, “In Chenstohova, to gain the indulgences,” he replied.
Glad to see him back, they at once set to telling him all the village news: asking advice, complaining of their neighbours, and all wishful to explain their troubles to him in private.
He was extremely tired, he told them; they must wait: he would be staying in Lipka a day or two.
At that they all begged him to stay with them. But he said he was engaged for the beginning by his promise to Hanka; after, if anyone would take him, he might stay longer. And so he made for Boryna’s.
Hanka of course was overjoyed to receive him. No sooner had he laid down his staff and wallet than
