“But are you not weary of lying here alone?”—His voice sounded tearful and unsteady.
“Master Yanek, I am very well off indeed here. Through these doorways, I can see many a thing: folk that go along the road, folk talking one to another; some look in, some even have a few kind words for me: I might just as well be going about the village. And when they have all gone to their work, I can see the fowls scratching in the rubbish-heaps; and then the sparrows hop into the passage, or the sun looks in for a little ere he sets, or some naughty boy flings a clod my way; and so the day is gone by before I know it. … And … in the night … they come to me—oh, many a one! …”
“They? Who, ah! who is’t that comes?” He bent close, and peered into her seemingly sightless eyes.
“My own folk, who died long ago: kinsfolk and acquaintances.—I tell you true, young master: they do come!—Once, too,” she whispered with a smile of ineffable rapture, “once the Virgin Mother herself came and said to me tenderly: ‘Lie there, Agata, the Lord Jesus will reward you.’ It was she of Chenstohova: I knew her at once by her crown and her mantle, all covered with gold and coral beads. And she stroked my hair and said: ‘Be not afraid, O lone one; you shall be a foremost dame in the court of Heaven, a lady of high degree.’ ”
Thus spoke the old woman, chirping feebly, like a bird that is dropping off to sleep; while Yanek, bending over her, looked and listened; as one who, gazing into abysmal depths, hears something hidden that bubbles and gurgles, and sees the glimmer of a mystery that is going on, beyond the ken of the human mind! He felt terror-stricken, yet could not tear himself away from that rag of humanity, that withered ear of corn, that life which, trembling like a ray that goes out in the darkness, was yet dreaming of its forthcoming renewal and splendour! Never yet had he beheld so near as this the inexorable destiny of man, and he was naturally appalled on realizing it. His heart was filled with mourning, and tears welled up from his eyes; he was bowed down to the earth with deep commiseration, and a fervent supplication burst convulsively from his lips.
Old Agata roused herself, lifted up her head, and cried ecstatically:
“O Yanek! O, most holy youth! Dear priest, beloved of my heart!”
He remained for a long time afterwards, standing propped against a wall, taking in the warmth of the sun, and feasting his eyes on the bright day, and the life he saw seething round him.
Did it matter, after all, if hard by him a human soul were struggling in the grip of death?
The sun shone all the same, the cornfields rustled; far, far above, the white clouds sailed past; children played on the roads; on the boughs, ripe apples glowed crimson; hammers beat upon the smithy anvil; they were getting ready a wagon, and tempering a sickle for the coming harvest; the air was redolent of fresh-baked bread; women were chatting together, kerchiefs moved along the hedges and fields and enclosures: humanity went on its way, as usual, as everlastingly, swarming, bustling, full of cares and little schemes, no one so much as wondering who would be first to fall into the abyss!
And so Yanek soon shook off his sadness, and went on to the village.
He stayed a little with Matthew, who was now raising the walls of Staho’s hut to a good height; had a talk with Ploshkova, busy bleaching her linen; paid a visit to Yuzka, who was still in bed; lent an ear to the complaints of the Voyt’s wife; looked how the smith at his forge was hardening scythes and putting a jagged edge to reaping-hooks; and he looked also into the gardens where women and lasses were at work: everyone was glad to see him, hailed him as a friend, and looked on him with no little pride—a child of Lipka—one of them!
Dominikova’s was the last hut he visited. She was sitting outside, spinning, and he wondered how she could spin with a bandage over her eyes.
“My fingers tell me if the thread is fine or thick,” she said; and, greatly pleased that he had come, called Yagna, who was doing something about the yard.
She came at once, scantily attired in only smock and petticoat; but on seeing Yanek, she hastily put up her hands and ran into the cabin, as red as a cherry.
“Yagna, bring us milk: Master Yanek will surely take some refreshment.”
She brought in a full milking-pail, and a mug to drink from. She had covered herself with a shawl, but was still extremely confused. As she poured the milk out with downcast eyes, her hands shook, and she turned pale and red by turns.
All the time he was there, she said not one single word; but, accompanying him to the gate when he went away, she gazed after him till he was out of sight.
There was in him something that attracted her irresistibly, and stirred her up with such power that, in order not to follow him, she flew to the orchard, caught hold of a tree, and embraced it with all her might, hugging it in both arms. There she stood, breathless, almost beside herself, cloaked and hidden, as it were, by the apple-covered branches that bowed down over her, with eyelids half closed, and a faint smile of happiness on her lips, though she also felt a vague dread, and a fearful yet pleasant sense of agitation: something like what she had experienced when looking at him through
