When Yuzka, all in tears, gave dinner to her father and Roch, her brother and his family were off the place, together with all they had. Antek never even looked back at his hut; he only crossed himself, heaving a deep sigh; and whipping up the horse, put his shoulder to the cart, it being very heavily laden. He went plodding along, his face white, his eyes blazing with stubborn resolve, his teeth chattering as one in an ague: but never said one word. Hanka walked languidly after the cart, her elder son holding to her skirt and roaring, her younger one clasped to her bosom. Before them she drove a cow, a flock of geese, and two lean swine: and her voice was so loud in imprecations and mourning that folk came out of their houses, and followed her as in procession.
At Boryna’s, the meal was eaten in sombre silence.
The old dog Lapa barked in the porch, ran after the cart, returned and howled. Vitek called it; but it paid no heed. It smelt the farmyard, entered Antek’s empty rooms, ran round them one or twice, rushed into the passage, barked again, whined, fawned on Yuzka, and again tore about as though distracted: then it sat down on its hind quarters with a strange air of imbecility—and finally made off, with its tail between its legs, on Antek’s trail.
“Even Lapa has gone after them!”
“Do not fear, Yuzka,” her father answered tenderly; “Lapa is coming back soon. They will have no food for him. Come, no silly puling, but prepare the other rooms: Roch is to live in them. Call Yagustynka to help you. … You must take household matters in hand now; being housekeeper, you’ll have many a care on your head. … No, no! no whimpering, dear!” He took her head in both his hands, and stroked it, and drew her caressingly to his heart.
“When I go to town, I’ll buy you a pair of shoes.”
“Oh, will you, will you, Father?”
“Yes, I will indeed, and many another thing besides. Only be a good girl, and take care of the place.”
“And will you buy me a caftan like Nastusia’s?”
“Certainly, dear, I’ll buy you one.”
“And ribbons too?—But long ones … such as I shall want for your wedding-day.”
“Say but what you need, little one, and you shall have it … all you want!”
XI
“Are you sleeping, Yagna?”
“How can I sleep? I woke at dawn … with the thought that I am to be married today.”
“You are sorry, darling, are you?” she whispered; there was in her heart a mingling of hope and fear.
“Wherefore? Shall I be sorry that I must leave your home, and go to my own?”
Dominikova, crushing down the pang which suddenly seized her at the words, did not reply at once. She rose from her bed, dressed herself carelessly, and went out to wake up the lads in the stable. These had overslept themselves somewhat, the “Unbinding of Hair”18 having taken place in the cabin the evening before. It was broad daylight, and the morning, clad in hoarfrost, flooded the world with silvery splendour.
Dominikova washed her face in the passage, and went quietly about the house, ever and anon peeping at Yagna, whose face was scarcely discernible in the shades of the bedroom, dark as yet.
“Lie there, darling! lie there still! Lie for the last time in thy mother’s home,” she murmured, love and sorrowing pain contending within her many a time. What she had coveted so ardently, she had now: yet she felt such anguish that she could not but wince at the smart of it, and sat down upon the bed.—Boryna … a kind man, who would treat her daughter with due respect. … And Yagna could do whatever she liked with this man, who saw nothing in the whole world but her!
No. It was not he that she dreaded, but the stepchildren.—Ah, why had he driven the Anteks from his home? Now, if ever, would they brew mischief and seek revenge. But yet, if he had not done so? … Antek at Yagna’s side!—A sin against God might have ensued.—Well, there was no help for it now. The banns were published, the guests invited; the pig was killed, the settlement safely stowed away. … No, no, no! What would come of it had to come; and while Dominikova lived, she would suffer no wrong to be done to her daughter.—Having come to this final decision, she went out to rate the lads for their sloth.
When she returned, she thought to rouse her daughter too; but Yagna had fallen asleep again, and the quiet regular breathing of slumber was heard from her bed. Once more did the mother feel anxieties and uncertainties swoop down upon her, like hawks with talons tearing at her heart, screaming distrust, and predicting some vaguely awful impending doom. But she dropped on her knees by the window and, with red bleared eyes fixed upon the flushed dawn, prayed very hard for a long time. And she rose, full of strength to meet any fate that might come, no matter what!
“Now, Yagna dear, get up; it is high time. Eva is coming at once to cook, and we have so much to do still!”
“Is the weather fine?” the girl inquired, raising her heavy head.
“So fine that all the country round is glistening over with hoarfrost. The sun will rise presently.”
Yagna, aided by her mother, was soon dressed. Then the latter, after due consideration, spoke thus:
“What I have told you before, I will repeat again. Boryna is a good, kind man; but you must take great care … not to make friends with any chance acquaintance, or let tongues ever again wag against you. People are curs: they love to bite.—You hear me, dear?”
“I hear, yes; but you
