It was a hard ascent, the ground being both steep and slippery.
“The cart is too full for one horse!” exclaimed a voice on the embankment.
“Is that you, Antek?”
“Surely.”
“Then be quick; Hanka is expecting you.—But give us a helping hand now.”
“Wait awhile: I must get down first.—It is so dark that you can’t see anything.”
They were up the embankment in no time, for the helping hand had pushed so powerfully that the horse scrambled up at once, and only came to a halt at the top.
“Thanks most heartily,” she said; “but, good God! you are strong!”
And she stretched out her hand to shake his.
They were mute. The cart went on before them, while they walked on, side by side, unable to find words, and both of them strangely agitated.
“Are you going back?” she asked in a low whisper.
“I shall only go with you as far as the mill, Yagna; the water has made a nasty hole there.”
“Very dark, isn’t it?” she said.
“Are you afraid, Yagna?” he murmured, drawing closer.
“Why should I be?”
They were mute again, walking on shoulder to shoulder, side touching side.
“How bright your eyes shine! … Like a wolf’s.”
“Will you come to the Klembas’ on Sunday for the music?”
“Will Mother allow me?”
“Do come, Yagna, do come!” he entreated her, in a strangled husky voice.
“Is it your wish?” she asked him softly, looking into his eyes.
“Why, Lord! ’twas I ordered the fiddler from Vola, only for you; and only for you did I beg Klemba to let us have his cabin.” He spoke in a low tone; his face was so close to hers, and his breath came so quick, that she drew back a little, quivering all over with emotion.
“Go now—they are waiting for you—someone may see us.—Go!”
“Will you come?”
“I will—I will,” she repeated, turning to look at him as he went away: but the fog had swallowed him up, and she only heard his feet, as they squashed away through the thick slush.
Then an irrepressible shiver seized her; and yet it was a fiery blast that went through her heart and brain. She knew not what it was that had come upon her: her eyes were full of flames; her breath failed her; she could not still the passionate throbbing of her heart. Instinctively she stretched forth her arms as for an embrace: then stiffened herself, taken with so wild a fit of sudden shuddering that she could have cried out aloud. But she reached the wagon and, catching hold, gave it a forward push with great though needless violence. The cart creaked and lurched over, so that several cabbages fell out into the mud. But still she saw before her that face, and ah! those eyes, so bright, so full of ardent craving!
“He is not a man, he’s a whirlwind,” she mused blankly. “Can there be such another in the whole world?”
She came back to her senses with the noise of the mill they were passing, and with the roar of the water pouring over the wheel and under the sluices; for those, owing to the high level of the water, had been thrown open; with a noisy rush the stream rolled down, breaking up into volumes of yeast-like foam that formed long white streaks on the broad expanse of the river.
At the miller’s house, just by the roadside, a lamp had been lit and placed on a table, whence it could be seen through the curtained windows.
“They really have a lamp, just as at his Reverence’s or at some manor-house!”
“For are they not rich folk?” said Simon. “They have more land than Boryna himself; they put their money out at interest; and how they cheat us when they grind our wheat!”
“They live like big landowners. … It is well for such as they. … They strut about the rooms, they loll upon the sofas, and eat dainty food, and make others work for them.” So thought his sister, but without envious feelings, nor paying any heed to what Simon went on saying; who, usually taciturn, now held forth on this subject at interminable length.
At last they arrived. In their bright warm cabin, a fire was blazing merrily on the hearth. Andrew was peeling potatoes, and their mother preparing supper.
Close to the fire sat a hoary-headed old man.
“Is all the work over, Yagna?”
“Only about three sheets full are still to be cut.”
She went into the inner room to change, and was back again at once, getting things ready for the meal, all the time keenly and curiously observant of the old man, who sat profoundly silent, looking into the fire, while his lips moved and his rosary passed through his fingers, bead by bead. When they sat down to the meal, the old dame placed a spoon for him, and asked him to eat with them.
“Remain ye with God: I go,” he answered. “But I shall look in here again, and perchance make a longer stay at Lipka.”
Kneeling down in the centre of the room, he bent before the holy images, crossed himself, and walked out.
“Who is that?” Yagna asked.
“A saintly pilgrim. He comes from the Sepulchre of Jesus. This many a year have I known him. He has been here more than once, and brought me holy things from afar. … About three years since. …”
She was interrupted by the entrance of Ambrose, who, after the usual greetings, took a seat by the fire.
“It is so cold and wet that even my wooden leg feels numb!”
“Why wander so, in such weather, and in the night too?” Dominikova grumbled. “You had far better have stayed at home and said your prayers.”
“At home I was a-weary; so, coming out to see a girl or two, I came first of all to you, Yagna!”
“Death is the name of the only girl for you.”
“Oh, she! she has forgotten me quite; she prefers dancing
