“And I thought you unfriendly!” she whispered.
“Never was I that; and you know it.”
“Never last year, peradventure,” she said, but added unthinkingly: “All the same, ye have gone with the others now!”
All at once he remembered, with anger and jealousy gnawing at his heart.
“Because … because ye have … ye are. …”
He could not utter the hateful words that choked him, and, checking himself, said harshly:
“Fare ye well!”
And he turned to leave her, lest he should reproach her with the Voyt.
“So once again you go!—But why? what harm have I done you?”
She felt startled and pained.
“None—none. … But—” and he spoke hurriedly, looking into her deep-blue eyes, and feeling sorrow, anger and tenderness rise up within him by turns—“but—Yagna! do put away from you that abominable creature! Put him away!” he repeated most earnestly.
“Ha! did I ever speak him fair? am I now doing aught to keep him?” she cried out angrily.
Matthew stood perplexed and hesitating.
A tempest of weeping shook her, and the tears poured down her glowing cheeks.
“Oh, the cruel wrong he did me!—To take my senses away! … And yet no one came forward on my behalf to accuse him! … No one has any mercy; ye all cry: Down, down with her!” she lamented bitterly.
“The villain! I will pay him out for it!” Matthew exclaimed, clenching his fist.
“Aye, pay him, Matthew! pay him! And ye shall have … !” Her eager appeal died away on her lips.
Without another word he hastened to the church.—She sat for a long time by the pond, wondering whether he would indeed take her part, and suffer no more wrong to be done to her.
“Antek, perchance!” the thought flashed through her brain.
She returned home, her mind agitated by secret but not unpleasant anticipations.
The bells were pealing as the people came out of church, and the air rang with their laughter; but those who passed by Dominikova’s cabin went silently, with gloomy looks and meaning glances at one another.
None of the merry sounds that echoed through all the rest of the village during the noonday meal was heard in her hut. Nor was anyone eager to visit her, as she lay there moaning and feverish. Yagna, to whom a long stay by her side was unbearable, went out at times to the porch, now and then walking as far as the gate; or she would sit by the window, looking out with weary desire for change. Simon sat motionless outside. Andrew alone remembered that the dinner had to be cooked, and set about cooking it.
Some time after dinner, Hanka came to look in. She was in an odd state of excitement, asking questions without number, deeply interested in the sufferer, but at times casting a stealthy troubled glance in the direction of Yagna, and sighing deeply.
After a time, Matthew dropped in to see Simon.
“Will you go forth with us to the Germans?”
“This place will I not quit: ’tis my father’s land and mine; from it I will not budge,” he answered, full of on thought only.
“A great ass you are!—Sit ye here till tomorrow, if you will.” Matthew was annoyed at this foolery; and as Yagna was then seeing Hanka to the gate on her departure, he went out with her, without bestowing so much as a look on the other.
They went along by the millpond road.
“Has Roch left the church yet?” he asked.
“Aye, and a good many peasants are waiting for him.”
He glanced back, and saw Yagna gazing after them. Quickly turning his head round, and with eyes cast down, he inquired of Hanka:
“Is it true that the priest has denounced anyone from the pulpit?”
“Why ask?—Ye have heard.”
“I came too late for the sermon.—They told me something, but I thought they were lying.”
“He denounced … more than one.—Oh, how he clenched his fists!—To be stern with sinners, to throw stones at them—anyone can do that.—But there is no one can prevent the evil thing!” She felt deeply mortified at the slur on her own family, and her mood was very angry.—“But,” she added, dropping her voice, “he made no allusion whatever to the Voyt.”
Matthew cursed savagely. He would have put one other question, but hesitated; and they moved on in silence, Hanka much vexed at the whole business. Yes, Yagna had sinned, she said to herself. Yes, she deserved punishment. … But to be rebuked from the pulpit, and almost by her name—it was too much! … She was the wife of Boryna, and not a common drab!—He had said naught against Magda or the girls in the mill: yet all knew of their doings!—And the lady of the Manor of Gluhov: did not all know of her fondness for peasant lovers? Had he said one word of her? Her dignity as a Borynova was hurt.
“Did he … did he mention Teresa?” The question was put at last, so low that she scarcely heard it.
“Aye. He mentioned both. And everyone guessed of whom he was speaking. Someone must have set him against her.”
He was near exploding with rage.
“They say it is either Dominikova’s work or Balcerkova’s. The former is avenging herself on you for Simon and Nastka; the other would fain have you for her own girl Mary.”
“Aha! Sits the wind in that quarter? I should not have dreamed it.”
“Men only see what is under their noses.”
“Well, Balcerkova has lost her trouble; and she may well be trounced for it yet by Teresa. Besides, to spite Dominikova, Simon shall marry Nastka: I’ll see to that myself.—Those miserable hags!”
“They work out their schemes, and honest folk have to suffer for them,” she said with sorrow.
“Each one tries to hurt everyone else: ’tis hard to bear life here.”
“So long as Matthias was with us, they had someone to keep them in bounds, someone to listen to.”
“Very true. Our Voyt is a fool who knows naught, and who plays such pranks that the folk can abide him no longer. Oh, if Antek were but to come back!”
“He will—he will! And shortly! But”—and her eyes
