And Yagna was there just then, digging up new potatoes. She had no notion that anyone was gazing at her. Now and then she would draw herself up wearily, look about her with very mournful eyes, and utter a long and heavy sigh.
“Yagna!” he exclaimed timidly.
She turned suddenly pale as a sheet of canvas, scarcely believing her own eyes, and well-nigh regarding him as a miraculous vision.
Yanek’s eyes were filled with light, and his heart with the sweetness of honey. But, mastering himself, he only sat down in silence, gazing upon her with an irresistible sense of delight.
“I feared I should never see you again, Master Yanek!”
As a scented breeze, blowing up from the meadows upon him, so was the sound of her voice to his soul, thrilled with inexpressible rapture!
“Yesterday evening, outside the Klembas’ house, ye would not even look at me!”
She stood before him, flushed like a rosebush in flower; like a spray of apple-blossoms, all drooping with desire; full of comeliness and altogether lovely.
“And I thought my heart would break!” she added, tears standing like diamonds on her long eyelashes, and veiling the dark azure of the heavens behind.
“Yagna!” he cried; it was a cry from the core of his inmost heart.
She knelt down in a furrow close by and, pressing close to his knees, fixed upon him the fiery depths of her eyes—those eyes as clear, yet as unfathomable, as the sky—those eyes whose looks went to the head like kisses, or the caresses of a beloved hand—those eyes instinct at once with subtle temptation and with absolute simplicity.
With a violent effort to shake himself free from the spell she was casting over him, he spoke to her sternly and recounted all the sins and evil deeds of which his mother had told him. She drank in all his words eagerly, her eyes fastened upon him, but scarcely at all understanding what he said, absorbed as she was in the one feeling and knowledge and consciousness of his being by her side—he, the chosen of her soul amongst all!—of his saying something, of his eyes gleaming bright; and of her kneeling before him as before the image of a saint, and praying to him with the deep, deep faith of love!
“Say now,” he concluded with energetic entreaty, “say, Yagna, say of all this: ’Tis untrue!”
“ ’Tis untrue!—untrue!” she repeated, and with such transparent sincerity that he could not but believe her. Then she, leaning forward, rested her breast against his knees … and in low trembling utterances confessed her love. … She opened wide her soul to him, as if to a father confessor, threw herself down before him as a stray worn-out bird might fall; and with an ardent entreaty, that sounded like a prayer, she gave herself up without reserve to his love … to do with her whatsoever he would.
Yanek trembled like a leaf tossed in a furious tempest, tried to push her from him and escape; but his mind was dazed, and he could only whisper faintly:
“Hush, Yagna, hush! say not such things, they are sinful!”
Then she ceased from speaking, being quite exhausted. And they both were silent; neither did they dare to look into each other’s eyes, but yet they pressed together so closely that they could feel each other’s hearts beat, and the hot stifled panting of their bosoms. Both felt infinite rapture and gladness; tears streamed down their pale cheeks, but a smile played on the lips of both, and both their souls were plunged in deep serene beatitude.
The sun had now gone down, the earth was bathed in the afterglow, as with a golden dew. All was still; all things held their peace, listening, as it were, to the sounds of the Angelus; everything seemed in orison—a prayer of quietude and thanksgiving for the blessing of the day that was over.—And they then went forth through the dusky fields, along the pathways overgrown with wild flowers, across the ripe cornlands, brushing aside the drooping ears as they walked; on they went, with eyes fixed upon the western fires, on the vast golden abysses of heaven, with heaven in their eyes, and heaven in their hearts, and a heaven-like aureole around them!
Not a word was spoken—not a single one; but at times their looks crossed like lightning flashes: each, wearied out in self-conflagration, was unconscious of what the other felt.
Nor were they conscious, either, of the wonderful hymn they were singing, which, having sprung up within their souls, was flying afar on every side, over the darkening fields.
Neither did they so much as know where they were, or whither going, or to what end.
A harsh hoarse voice broke upon their dreams on a sudden:
“Yanek!—Home!”
He was instantly recalled to his senses, and found himself in the poplar road, his mother standing in front of them both, grim-visaged and inexorable!—At the sight, he faltered, stammered, and uttered some unmeaning words.
“Home!”
She caught hold of his unresisting hand, and he followed meekly as she pulled him along.
Yagna, as if spellbound, was coming after them. The old dame picked up a stone from the road, and hurled it at her with all her strength.
“Hence!—Bitch, to your kennel!” she shrieked with foul-mouthed abuse.
Yagna looked round, really unaware that the words were meant for her. When they had disappeared, she wandered about the lanes for a long time, and when all the lights were out, she went and sat outside her cabin till it was again broad day.
The hours passed by; the villagers one by one rose and went to their daily duties; and she still sat plunged in daydreams of her Yanek; of his speech with her, of their mutual glances—and so near together! of their having gone somewhere and sung something … something she could not remember. … And always, always the same dream, endlessly repeated!
Her mother woke her to reality; but Hanka did the waking yet more effectually. She came, dressed for her journey, and timidly
