On the Field of Glory Part 26

"May G.o.d not grant me to wait for that!" cried she, bending again to the hand of Pan Gideon.

And in her voice there was such sincerity that the stern face of the old n.o.ble was radiant with genuine joy for the moment.

"Dost thou love me a little?"

"Oh, guardian!"

"G.o.d reward thee, child. My age is not yet so advanced, and my body, save for the wounds in my heart and my person, would be sufficiently stalwart. But as men say, death is ever sitting 'at the gate, and knocks at the door whensoever it pleases. Were it to knock here thou wouldst be alone in the world with Pani Vinnitski. Pan Grothus is a good man and wealthy; he would respect my testament and wishes at all times, but as to other relatives of my late wife--who knows what they would do? And this estate and this mansion I got with my wife. Her relatives might wish to resist, and raise lawsuits. There is need to have foresight in all things. Pan Grothus gave advice touching this case--true, it is effective--but strange, and therefore I will not speak to thee yet of it. I should like to see His Grace the King--to leave thee and my will to his guardianship, but the king is occupied now with the coming war and the Diet. Pan Grothus says that if there is war the troops will move first under the hetmans, and the king will join them at Cracow--perhaps then--perhaps we shall go together. But whatever happens, know this, my child; all that I have will be thine, though I should have to follow at last the advice of Pan Grothus.

Yes!--even for one hour before death! Yes, so help me, G.o.d. For I am not a wind in the field, not a harebrain, not a purse emptier, not a Tachevski."

CHAPTER IX

Panna Anulka returned to her room filled with grat.i.tude toward her guardian, who up to that hour had never spoken to her with such kindness; and at the same time she was disenchanted, embittered, and disgusted with the world and with people. In the first moment she could not and knew not how to think calmly; she had only the feeling that a grievous wrong had been done her, a great injustice, and that an awfully keen disappointment had struck her.

For her love, for her sorrow, for her yearning, for all that she had done to bind the broken threads together, her only reward was a hateful suspicion. And there was no remedy. She could not, of course, write to Yatsek a second time, to justify herself and explain the position. A blush of shame and humiliation covered her face at the mere thought of this. Besides, she was almost sure that Yatsek had gone. And next would come war; perhaps she would never behold him in life again; perhaps he would fall and die with the conviction that a perverse and wicked heart was in her bosom. All at once boundless sorrow seized her. Yatsek stood before her eyes as if living, with his embrowned face and those pensive eyes which more than once she had laughed at, as being the eyes of a maiden.

The girl's thought flies like a swift swallow after the traveller, and calls to him: "Yatsek! I wish thee no evil! G.o.d sees my heart, Yatsek."

Thus does she call to him, but he makes no answer; he rides on straight ahead. What does he think of her? He only frowns and spits from disgust as he travels.

Again there are pearls on her eyelids. A certain weakness has come on her, a moment of resignation in which she says to herself: "Ah, this is difficult! May G.o.d forgive him, and go with him, and never mind me!"

But her lips quiver like those of a child, her eyes look like those of a tortured bird, and somewhere off in a hidden corner of her soul, which is as pure as a tear, she blames G.o.d in the deepest secret for that which has met her.

Then again she felt certain that Yatsek had never loved her, and she could not understand why he had not loved her, even a little.

"My guardian spoke truly," said she.

But later on came reflection.

"No, that could not be."

Immediately she recalled those words of Yatsek, which were fixed in her memory as in marble. "Not thou art to go, I am the person to go; but I say to thee: though for years I have loved thee more than health, more than life, more than my own soul, I will never come back to thee. I will gnaw my own hands off in torture, but, so help me, G.o.d, I will never come back to thee." And he was pale as a wall when he said this, and almost mad from pain and from anger. He had not come back, that was true! He had appeared no more, he had left her, he had renounced her, he had abandoned her, he had wronged her; with an unworthy suspicion he and the priest had composed the dreadful letter--all that was true, and her guardian was right in that. But that Yatsek had never loved her, that after he had found money he had departed with a light and joyful heart, that he thought of paying court to others, that he had ceased altogether to think of her,--this was incredible. Her guardian might think so in his carefulness, but the truth was quite different. He who has no love does not grow pale, does not set his teeth, does not gnaw his fists, does not rend his soul in anguish. Such being the case, the young lady thought the difference was only this, that instead of one two were now suffering, hence a certain consolation, and even a certain hope, entered her. The days and months which were to come seemed gloomier, it may be, but not so bitter. The words of the letter ceased to burn her like red-hot iron, for though she doubted not that Yatsek had a.s.sisted in the writing, it is one thing to act through sorrow and pain, and another through deliberate malice.

So again great compa.s.sion for Yatsek took hold of her; so great was it, and especially so ardent, that it could not be simply compa.s.sion. Her thoughts began to weave, and turn into a certain golden thread, which was lost in the future, but which at the same time cast on her the glitter of a wedding.

The war would soon end and also the separation. That cruel Yatsek would not return to Belchantska. Oh, no! a man so resolute as he when once he says a thing will adhere to it; but he will come back to those parts, and return to Vyrambki; he will live near by, and then that will happen which G.o.d wishes. He went away it may be with tears, it may be with pain, with wringing of hands--G.o.d comfort him! He will come home with a full heart, and with joy, and, especially after war, with great glory.

Meanwhile she will be there quietly in Belchantska, where her guardian is so kind; she will explain to that guardian that Yatsek is not so bad as other young men--and farther on moved that golden thread which began to wind round her heart again.

The goldfinch, in the Dantsic clock of the drawing-room, whistled out a late hour, but sleep flew from the young lady altogether.

Lying now in her bed she fixed her clear eyes on the ceiling and considered what disposition to make of her troubles and sorrows. If Yatsek had gone it was only because he was running away from her, for according to what she had heard war was still far from them. Her guardian had not mentioned that young Stanislav and the Bukoyemskis were to go away also; it was proper to come to an understanding with them and learn something of Yatsek, and say some kind word which might reach him through them, even in distant camps, and in war time.

She had not much hope that those gentlemen would come to Pan Gideon's, for it was known to her that they had gone over to Yatsek, and that for a certain time they had been looking with disfavor on Pan Gideon; but she relied on another thing.

In some days there would be a festival of the Most Holy Lady; a great festival at the parish church of Prityk, where all the neighboring n.o.bles a.s.sembled with their families. She would see Pan Stanislav and the Bukoyemskis, if not in front of the church then at dinner in the priest's house. On that day the priest received every one.

She hoped too that in the throng she would be able to speak with them freely, and that she would not meet any hindrance from her guardian who, though not very kind toward those gentlemen recently, could not break with them in view of the service which they had shown him.

To Prityk from Belchantska the road was rather long, and Pan Gideon, who did not like hurry, pa.s.sed the night at Radom, or at Yedlina, if he chose the road through the latter place.

This time because of the overflow they took the safer though longer road through Radom, and started one day before the festival--on wheels, not on runners, for winter had broken on a sudden, and thoroughly.

After them moved two heavily laden wagons with servants, provisions, a bed and sofas for decent living at inns where they halted.

The stars were still twinkling, and the sky had barely begun to grow pale in the east when they started. Pani Vinnitski led morning prayers in the dark. Pan Gideon and the young lady joined her with very drowsy voices, for the evening before they had gone to bed late because of preparations for the journey. Only beyond the village and the small forest, in which thousands of crows found their night rest, did the ruddy light shine on the equally ruddy face and drowsy eyes of the young lady. Her lips were fixed ready for yawning, but when the first sun-ray lighted the fields and the forest she shook herself out of the drowsiness and looked around with more sprightliness, for the clear morning filled her with a certain good hope, and a species of gladness.

The calm, warm, coming day promised to be really wonderful. In the air appeared, as it were, the first note of early spring. After unparalleled snows and frosts came warm sunny days all at once, to the astonishment of people. Men had said that from the New Year it seemed as if some power had cut off the winter as it were with a knife-blade, and herdsmen foretold by the lowing of cattle, then restive in the stables, that the winter would not come back again. In fact, spring itself was then present. In furrows, in the forest, at the north side of woods and along streams, strips of snow still existed; but the sun was warming them from above, and from beneath were flowing out streams and currents, making in places broad overflows in which were reflected wet leafless trees, as in mirrors. The damp ridges of fields gleamed like belts of gold in the sun-rays. At times a strong wind rose, but so filled with gladsome warmth as if it came from out the sun's body directly, and flying over the fields wrinkled the waters, throwing down with its movement thousands of pearls from the slender dark twigs of the tree branches.

Because of the thaws and road "stickiness," and also because of the weighty carriage which was drawn by six horses with no little effort, they moved very slowly. As the sun rose more and more the air grew so warm that Panna Sieninski untied the ribbons of her hood, which dropped to the back of her head, and unb.u.t.toned her weasel-skin shuba.

"Are you so warm?" inquired Pani Vinnitski.

"Spring, Auntie! real spring!" was the answer.

And she was so charming with her bright and somewhat dishevelled head pushed out from her hood, with laughing eyes and rosy face, that the stern eyes of Pan Gideon grew mild as he glanced at her. For a while he seemed as if looking at her then for the first time, and spoke as if half to himself,--

"As G.o.d lives thou art at thy best also!"

She smiled at him in answer.

"Oh, how slowly we are moving," said she after a while. "The road is awful! Is it not true that on a long road one should wait till it dries somewhat?"

Pan Gideon's face became serious, and he looked out of the carriage without giving an answer.

"Yedlina!" said he, soon after.

"Then perhaps one may go to the church?" inquired Pani Vinnitski.

"We will not, first because the church is sure to be closed, for the priest has gone to Prityk, and second, because he has offended me greatly, and I will hide my hand if he approaches." Then he added: "I ask you, and thee also, Anulka, not to converse with him in any way."

A moment of silence succeeded. Suddenly the tramping of horses was heard behind the carriage, and the sounds made as the beasts pulled their feet out of the mud; these resembled the firing of muskets,--then piercing words were heard on both sides of the carriage.

"With the forehead! with the forehead!"

That was from the Bukoyemskis.

"With the forehead!" answered Pan Gideon.

"Is your grace for Prityk?"

"I go every year. I suppose your lordships are going also to the festival?"

"You may lay a wager on that," replied Marek. "One must be purified from sin before war comes."

"But is it not early yet?"