As they reached the gate, they found it wide open just as they had left it. The front door was not locked either, the latch was, of course, down, but the door had not been bolted.

"Jendrek, Marianna," shouted Mr. Tiralla, at the top of his voice. Was n.o.body coming to take the horses? Where were those rascals sleeping?

And the other men, the day labourers, hadn't come yet. The farmer scolded and groaned when he found that he would have to unharness the horses himself and take them to the stable.

Mrs. Tiralla went into the room and called the maid. But Marianna, who always came running so submissively when her mistress called her, did not appear either. The woman grew so angry, that she almost tore the ball-dress off her back, and then let it lie on the floor. Disgraceful, disloyal, shameless [Pg 108] hussy! Where could she be sleeping so sweetly that she neither heard nor saw anything?

When Mr. Tiralla came into the room his wife snubbed him as angrily as if he had been Marianna.

He tried to appease her. "That'll do, that'll do, my love. We know all about it." He laughed good-naturedly. "They're young, we must excuse them."

Oh, so he condoned such things? Perhaps even considered them right?

Well, then! There was a strange expression in Mrs. Tiralla's eyes as she stared straight in front of her. She let her husband press a kiss on her neck without feeling it, and then she ran in her petticoat and without anything over her shoulders through the cold house up to her bedroom.

There lay Rosa with the feather bed drawn up to her eyes. The woman fell on her knees beside the child's bed, and, burying her head in the bedclothes, she sobbed aloud.

Rosa awoke. "Mother, sweet mother?" There was a note of anxious inquiry in her exclamation; was her mother in a good humour again, was she no longer cross as the evening before?

"Do you love me?" stammered the sobbing woman. "Tell me that you love me."

"Oh, I do love you, I love you so dearly."

"Tell me that you'll pray for me. Swear that you'll pray for me--always."

"Oh, I'll pray for you. I always pray for you."

"Pray for me, pray for me," sobbed the excited woman. "I'll pray with you, perhaps that'll help me. Rosa, my angel"--she covered the child's face with kisses--"we'll pray."

"What shall we pray?" asked the child. "What do you want to pray now, mother dear? Shall I pray [Pg 109] to the beautiful guardian angel, 'Holy angel, thou who standest before the throne of G.o.d,' or shall I repeat the litany to the sweet name of Jesus? Or shall I pray as I did at my confirmation, 'Come, thou Heavenly Physician, I need Thee. Heal my soul, oh Saviour. Come, save me'? Oh, you left me alone," cried the child, in a plaintive voice, as she broke off in the midst of her prayer. "You were at the ball, you were so beautiful, mother. Daddy was with you. Marianna went away as well. She said it would only be for half an hour; she wanted to see her little ones, who are living with an old woman in the village; but she stopped away. I was all by myself in the house. And something creaked in the big cupboard, and in the stove, and in all the furniture. And something moved in all the corners. Ugh, the room was so lonely, I ran out of it. And the candles--those two before the looking-gla.s.s--flickered so. Marianna says that if you look into a gla.s.s before which two candles are burning, as the clock strikes twelve, either Death or your future husband will be standing behind you. Oh, and I daren't cross the pa.s.sage, it was so dark. Just think if anybody had been lurking there? I screamed aloud, but n.o.body answered--ugh, the pa.s.sage was so icy cold--so I rushed into the kitchen; there was still a little fire there, and I crept behind the stove. Oh, mother, I was so frightened, I couldn't stop there either. I trembled so, my heart went like that the whole time"--she took hold of her mother's hand and moved it quickly up and down--"the whole time like that. Just think if that fiery man, that Marianna is always telling me about, had got out of the stove? I believe that fiery man is the devil; I've asked Marianna, but she didn't know. Do you think, mammie, that it's the devil?"

[Pg 110]

She sat up in bed. She was still completely dressed. "Is it the devil?"

Mrs. Tiralla nodded.

"So you also believe that it's the devil?" Rosa's voice expressed a certain satisfaction, a kind of childish pride; oh, yes, she knew all about such things. "I know him." she said triumphantly.

"What does he look like?" whispered her mother, with a shudder, as she hid her face in her hands. Oh, if that should have been he, that handsome young man who had suddenly appeared before her a short time before, as she stood half-dressed in the room downstairs and Mr.

Tiralla was making excuses for the amorous maid?

"I saw him on the altar in the chapel," whispered Rosa. "Holy Michael was treading him underfoot. He's like a worm, but he has a face and horns on his head. Father Szypulski says he comes to tempt us. Pray, pray! He pokes the fire in Purgatory, in which the souls are burning.

'Pray for the peace of the poor souls in Purgatory,' says the priest, 'and for your own as well.' I commend all the souls in Purgatory to thee, oh, most holy Mother Mary." Rosa's whispers became more and more agitated and her wild, restless eyes began to wander about the room.

"He's red, mother, red with black horns. He dances in the flames wherever there's a fire; he sends out sparks, mother--he's fetching us all! Mother! Oh, he's burning us all!"

The child uttered a heartrending sigh, and pressing both hands to her breast reared herself up in bed. Throwing back her disordered hair, she shrieked in a loud voice, "Oh, it hurts me, it hurts me so here--it hurts, hurts, hurts!"

"It hurts, hurts, hurts!" shrieked her mother. [Pg 111] She did not know that she was repeating the same words.

Rosa tore her dress open, her breast heaved and sank as she gasped for breath in her terror. Then she clung to her mother, and hiding her face in her neck she whimpered, "Carry me out of the kitchen again, carry me up the dark stairs, oh, Holy Mother, that I needn't fear. Put me down, keep me warm--hail, Mary, thou that art highly favoured"--(the child's voice had grown soft and low)--"how beautiful thou art--I love thee--hail, Mary, blessed art thou among women--blessed--the fruit--of thy womb----"

Her words grew more and more indistinct, until they at last became nothing but an incoherent murmur.

Ah, now Rosa saw the Holy Virgin. Seized with a superst.i.tious terror, Mrs. Tiralla loosened the child's arms from about her neck. What did Rosa see? What did she hear? Did she really see something? If only Rosa could find out something which could be of use to her--her!

The child had fallen back on her bed heavy and stiff. Spurred on by an intense eagerness her mother leant over her and whispered:

"Ask the Holy Virgin--tell the Holy Virgin that I'll let ten candles burn before her on the altar--ten wax candles--she's to release me--Glisten, all she's to do is to release me."

Rosa was silent. She did not hear. Although her eyes were wide open, she did not seem to see her mother's terrified, excited mien, nor her burning, piercing looks, so full of entreaty.

"Listen!" Mrs. Tiralla's voice sounded almost fierce as she shouted to the child. "Listen, listen!" she repeated several times, in an impressive voice. [Pg 112] "Tell the Holy Virgin she's to release me--I want to be released--I must be released--listen, listen!"

All at once a convulsive movement pa.s.sed over Rosa's face. Her mother bent over her, lower and lower, full of trembling eagerness. The child's staring eyes began to move, and her mouth as well.

"You'll be released," she stammered, as though in her sleep. "The dear Virgin hears all prayers--she is smiling--ah, how she's smiling."

Bearing herself up once more, and stretching out her arms, the over-excited child burst into tears.

Her mother wiped the tears and beads of perspiration away from her face with her trembling hands. Oh, her little dress was quite wet through, and her bodice and chemise as well. She undressed the child and made her bed more comfortable. Poor little thing! Her mother felt very sorry for her, although she was full of joy and of an insuppressible exultation. She was to be released! The Holy Virgin had spoken. She was to be released from him, from Mr. Tiralla!

[Pg 113]

CHAPTER VI

Rosa was singing as she crossed the fields. She felt so well, so light-hearted. At last she had been to confession. The snow had melted, Eastertide was drawing near, now she could sing.

"Mary Magdalene weeping Went to Jesu's tomb.

Her dear Lord, her sorrow knowing.

Came to light her gloom.

She saw His glorious countenance."

Her clear voice sounded jubilant as it rose into the blue sky. It was spring, spring. The fresh gra.s.s was sprouting near the broad ditch, the corn that had been kept warm under the snow was now green and thick.

Christ was risen and therefore the earth rejoiced.

Rosa took out of her pocket the paper on which she, during the winter, had noted down all she had to confess. She had examined her conscience most carefully; it was a long, long piece of paper, with many sins written on it. But she had got rid of them all now, and that was why she felt so happy. Now she could tear it to pieces.

She stood still, and tearing the paper into shreds threw them high into the air. Off they flew. How the wind carried them away, higher and higher, as high as the lark which was hovering up there. They were flying to G.o.d.

[Pg 114]

Rosa mingled her song with the lark's trills, in joyous, jerky rhythm.

"The stone was rolled away As to the grave they came.

At its right side in raiment bright An angel sat and calmed their fright. Hallelujah."