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the tenth or twentieth. When the storm passed away and it became necessary for us to part, I had her arms about my neck and at the same time my cheeks were wet with her tears,--for she cried, but I do not know whether from the loss of innocence or because I was leaving."
Here, in spite of himself, the song of Ophelia, when insane, flitted through Krzycki's memory.
Ladislaus continued:
"On our departure she said that she knew I was the young lord of Jastrzeb; that she saw me every Sunday in Rzeslewo and gazed upon me as upon some miracle-working painting."
"Ah, you certainly are handsome to the point of nauseousness," interrupted Gronski, with a certain irritation.
"Bah!--I have already three or four gray hairs."
"Surely, from birth. How often did you meet thereafter?"
"Before I left her, I asked her whether she could not slip away the following evening. She answered that she could, because in the evening she always gathered the linen, which was being bleached upon the meadow, for fear that some one might steal it, and that besides, in summer time she did not sleep in the cabin with her parents, but on the hay in the barn. After that we met every day. I had to conceal myself from the night watch, so I slunk out of the window into the garden, though this was an unnecessary precaution, for the watch slept so soundly that one time I carried off the trumpet and staff belonging to one of them. It was amusing also that, seeing Hanka only in the night time, I did not know how she really looked; though in the moonlight she appeared to me to be pretty."
"And in church?"
"Our collator's pew is near the altar, while the girls knelt in the rear. There are so many of the same red and yellow shawls, studded with so many flowers, that it is difficult to distinguish one from the other. At times it seemed to me that I saw her in the distance, but I could not see her perfectly. The vacation soon ended, and when I returned the following season the Skibas were gone."
"Did you bid her farewell?"
"I admit that I did not. I preferred to avoid that."
"And did you ever long for her?"
"Yes. In Warsaw I longed for her intensely, and during the first month I was deeply in love with her. After my return to Jastrzeb, when I again saw the mill the feeling revived, but at the same time I was content that everything should drop, as it were, into the water and that Mother should not know anything about it."
Conversing in this manner, they turned from the side road to the shady walk leading to the manor-house, whose low lights, from a distance of about a verst, at times glistened through the boughs of the linden, and then again hid themselves, screened by the thick foliage. The night was starry and fair. It was, however, quite dark, for the moon had not yet risen and the copper glow upon the eastern sky announced its near approach. There was not the slightest breath of air. The great nocturnal stillness was broken by the barks of dogs, barely audible, from the distant slumbering village. Involuntarily, Gronski and Ladislaus began to speak in lower tones. However, everything was not asleep, for a few hundred paces from the walk, on the meadow near the river, firelights were intermittingly flashing.
"Those are peasants pasturing the horses and catching crawfish by the lights of the resinous wood," said Krzycki. "I even hear one of them riding away."
And in fact at that moment they heard on the meadows the clatter of the horse's hoofs, deadened by the grass, and immediately afterwards the loud voice of a herdsman resounded, who, amidst the nocturnal quiet, shouted in a drawling tone:
"Wojtek--Bring with you some more fagots, for these are not sufficient."
The night rider, having reached the road, soon passed by the chatting friends like a shadow. He, however, recognized the young heir, as in riding by them he pulled off his cap and saluted:
"Praised be the Lord!"
"Now and forever."
And for some time they walked in silence.
Ladislaus began to whistle quietly and to shout at the dog, but Gronski, who was cogitating upon what had occurred in the mill, said:
"Do you know that if you were an Englishman, for instance, your idyl would have ended, in all probability, differently, and you would throughout your life have had a chaste remembrance, in which there would be great poetry."
"We eat less fish, therefore have a temperament differing from the Englishmen. As to poetry, perhaps there also was a little of it in our affair."
"It is not so much different temperament as different usages, and in that is the relief. They have a soul, healthier and at the same time, more independent, and do not borrow their morality from French books."
After which he meditated for a while and then continued:
"You say that in your relations there was a little poetry. Certainly, but looking at it only from Hanka's side, not yours. In her, really, there is something poetical, for, deducing from your own words, she loved you truly."
"That is certain," said Ladislaus. "Who knows whether I ever in my life will be loved as much?"
"I think that you will not. For that reason, I am astonished that this stone should drop into the depth of your forgetfulness and that you should have so completely effaced it."
These words touched Krzycki somewhat, so he replied:
"Candidly speaking, I related all this to you for the purpose of explaining why I do not accept the bequest, and, in the naïveté of my soul, I thought that you would praise me. But you are only seeking sore spots. Indeed, I would, after all, have preferred that this had not happened, but, since it happened, it is best not to think of it. For if I had as many millions as there are girls seduced every year in the villages, I could purchase not only Rzeslewo, but one half of the county. I can assure you that they themselves do not look upon it as a tragedy, neither do such things end in misfortune. It would plainly be laughable if I took this to heart more than Hanka who in all probability did not take it to heart and does not."
"How do you know?"
"That is usually the case. But if it were the reverse, what can I do? Surely I will not journey across the ocean to seek her. In a book that might perhaps appear very romantic, but in reality I have an estate which I cannot abandon and a family which it is not permissible for me to sacrifice. Such a Hanka, with whom, speaking parenthetically, you have soured me by recalling, may be the most honest girl, but to marry her--of course I could not marry her; therefore what, after all, can I do?"
"I do not know; but you must agree that there is a certain moral unsavoriness in the situation in which a man, after committing a wrong, afterwards asks himself or others, 'What can I do?'"
"Oh, that was only a façon de parler," replied Krzycki, "for, on the whole, I know perfectly. I will publish the advertisements and with that everything will end. The penance, which the priest at the proper time imposed upon me, I have performed, and I do not intend to make any further atonement."
To this Gronski said:
"Sero molunt deorum molæ. Do you understand what that means in Polish?"
"Having assumed the management of Jastrzeb, I sowed all my latinity over its soil, but it has not taken root."
"That means: The mills of the gods grind late."
Krzycki began to laugh and, pointing his hand in the direction of the old mill, said:
"That one will not grind anything any more; I guarantee that."
Further conversation was interrupted by their meeting near the gates two indistinct forms, with which they almost collided, for though the moon had already ascended, in the old linden walk it was completely dark.
Ladislaus thought that they were the lady visitors enjoying an evening stroll, but for certainty asked, "Who is there?"
"We," answered an unknown feminine voice.
"And