"Why shouldn't he?" asked her brother, looking at her tenderly. He was really fond of his good, gentle little Rosa. But then his glance grew criticizing and appraising as he added, "You're certainly not half so pretty as your mother. _Psia krew!_"--he smacked [Pg 230] his lips and his eyes grew ardent--"what a fine woman she is! What a pity--and the old man drinks. But people must not compare you two, that's all. Martin will understand that; besides, he isn't one of those who look at beauty alone."

Suddenly a violent pain pierced Rosa's heart, and she involuntarily pressed her hand to her side; it was as though her heart were broken and she must hold it together. Oh, yes, her mother was beautiful, and how she had laughed when they were turning the clover; just like the wood-pigeons in the Przykop. She could not be compared with her mother, she knew that. Her head drooped in painful humility.

"But you've got something too," said Mikolai consolingly. "Becker has to look out for a wife with money. Although he has some himself, he hasn't enough. Besides, I think he's very fond of you. Tell me"--he put his hand under the girl's chin and looked into her face--"do you like him too? Shall I tell him so?"

The tears welled into Rosa's eyes and rolled down her cheeks. She shook her head without saying a word, and as he urged her, "But why not?

Don't be so stupid!" she said quite softly, "I don't want to; no, I would rather not," and then tore herself away from him and ran into the house, and up to the room she shared with Marianna. There she threw herself on her knees beside her narrow bed and began to cry and pray.

She had to cry; she would have liked to check the tears that flowed, she did not know why, but she could not. Was that jealousy that was stabbing her heart like a knife? Oh, no, n.o.body in the world could admire her mother as she did. She would gladly have given her everything--only not Becker. How those two had gazed at each other.

They had [Pg 231] kept together the whole time in a remote part of the field, always side by side as though they belonged to each other. And her mother had laughed as though she were a young, happy girl, much younger and much happier than she, Rosa, had ever been. Was it not disgraceful to laugh like that when one is so old?

Rosa's lip curled, but then she felt very much ashamed of herself. How horrid it was of her to envy her mother because she had laughed. If only she might always laugh and be happy! Her lot would be to pray, pray always. She would go to the Grey Sisters and nurse the sick, or to the Ladies of the Sacred Heart. That was the only thing she wanted to do, nothing else was worth longing for.

Husband and wife, and always united during many years, and many children--it sounded like distant music. Rosa moved her lips more rapidly; she would have liked to stop her ears, she fought with all her strength against the distant music. "Jesus, my only Friend, I love Thee above everything. Sweetest Jesus, Saviour!" she whispered fervently; her eager eyes were full of longing as she raised them.

Rosa had never had a picture of the Saviour over her bed, nothing but a vessel containing holy water and some consecrated palm branches, but at that moment a picture shone on the bare wall which had never been there before. She stared at it in a transport of joy, and her eyes grew bigger and bigger; her lips faltered as she prayed, and she heaved a deep sigh--there--there--Jesus Christ! How Martin Becker resembled Him in every feature, and how He smiled at her.

The expression in the girl's face grew more and more ecstatic; it was as though all the blood in her body had suddenly become active, as it coursed down into [Pg 232] the tips of her toes and then up into her hot cheeks. Rosa glowed with delight--there He was, there He was. It was no longer the Christ Child, whom she had got leave to nurse, it was He, He, so big and so beautiful.

"Jesus, O my Saviour!" She uttered a cry of joy and stretched out her arms.

It had grown dusk outside and the low room was already in darkness, but the picture shone with a wondrous splendour before Rosa's eyes. She writhed on the floor, her delicate body trembled with pain and ecstatic happiness.

When Marianna came upstairs to dress--for Mr. Mikolai had promised faithfully to take a short walk in the fields with her after supper--she found the Paninka lying on the floor, pale and almost fainting, as though all the blood had left her body. Poor little thing!

The maid lifted the light body on to the bed and began to undress her.

But Rosa resisted with a wail and kept firm hold of her clothes. She would not come down to supper either, she wanted to be alone, quite alone with Him.

"With whom?" asked Marianna inquisitively. But she received no answer.

The young girl lay on her bed, pale and with a faraway look in her eyes. Marianna cast a glance at her in which there lay both fear and reverence--dear, dear, was that to begin again? She made the sign of the cross and then, as no sound came from Rosa and she seemed to be sleeping, hastily made herself smart, put on a dean cap and her beads with all the long, gay-coloured ribbons round her neck--Mr. Mikolai would approve of her now--and hurried downstairs, humming a song.

[Pg 233]

n.o.body missed Rosa at supper. The evening was so warm, so mild and alluring that it had turned all their heads.

Even Mr. Tiralla, who otherwise would have asked for his little daughter, did not give her a thought. True, he was sitting at the table, but his eyes were fixed on vacancy, and he neither saw nor heard anybody. It appeared as if he might fall off his chair at any moment.

Martin Becker was filled with aversion as he looked at him; it was a shame, a disgrace to drink like that. He turned his eyes away. Then he flashed a tender glance at Mrs. Tiralla; poor, dear woman, if only he could carry her away in his arms, away from him, away from all this foulness! Would to G.o.d he could get away from it all! But they could not run away together, and so he, too, must stay to please her. It was not easy; it was no honour to serve such a fellow, as he had done now for well-nigh three-quarters of a year. But he was doing it to please Mikolai and her--yes, her. He had to stop.

The woman now cast a look at him as though she had guessed his thoughts. She did not thank him in words, but the thanks lay in her eyes. Mrs. Tiralla's eyes had always been beautiful, velvety, deep, speaking eyes, but now there was a soft gleam in them, instead of the restless flickering that had so often been there--the gleam of love.

She gazed at Martin Becker with a deep, warm look. When they went to the Przykop together, as they had arranged to do as soon as Mr. Tiralla was asleep, she would say to him, "I thank you." How she longed to say to him, "I thank you for coming to Starydwor, I thank you for coming as a deliverer. Look, I've become cleansed through you. Oh, how I love you, [Pg 234] how I thank you!" But would he understand her? No, how could he, for what did he know? If she were to say to him, "I've become cleansed through you," he would look at her with big, astonished eyes, for he did not know of any guilt. But was she really guilty? No, she was not--the woman raised her head with a confident air--no, she knew of no guilt either. The memory of all those years with all those bad days and bad thoughts had disappeared as though they had never existed.

She was once more as young and as innocent as she had been when she sat in her priest's study. It had been quite a different woman who had sighed at Starydwor for so many years, who had wept and had again and again endeavoured to free herself from this hateful husband. Poison?

She had to smile; how kind the saints had been to her; they had preserved her from the poison. Now Mr. Tiralla drank. And if he continued to drink as he was doing, so much Tokay and beer and gin, then he would soon drink himself into the grave. G.o.d be gracious to his poor soul!

The look that the woman cast at her husband was almost compa.s.sionate; he never disturbed her now. She nodded with a smile to her lover and then pushed the bottle, which was not yet empty, nearer to her husband.

"Won't you finish it?"

He mumbled something unintelligible as he gazed into his gla.s.s, but did not look at her. Then she filled his gla.s.s to the brim, and as he still did not drink and did not even stretch his hand out to take it, she took hold of it, sipped a little, and then almost pushed it into his hand. "Your health! Much good may it do you!"

[Pg 235]

Mr. Tiralla was asleep. They had not even waited until he fell from his chair, for he was still sitting in his place, although his head had fallen on the table. They need not have left the room, however, for they were as good as alone.

Mikolai had gone out somewhat earlier. He had stood a short time at the front door whistling softly, but when the whistling had ceased and Marianna's clatter was no longer heard in the kitchen, the two had nodded to each other with a smile, as much as to say, "We understand,"

and had also got up from their seats and gone out as the others had done.

They wandered slowly along hand-in-hand. Mrs. Tiralla never dreamt of fearing that anybody should see them; she walked calmly along in her light-coloured dress that could be seen afar off in the flat fields in spite of the twilight.

Martin did not feel so calm. "If anybody were to see us!" he said, as figures, more suspected than actually seen, appeared and disappeared among the corn. "There are still people about."

"Leave them," she said, with a smile. "Come, put your arm round me.

Lead me, I should love to be led wherever you want to go. I'll close my eyes, and then I shall neither see the sky nor the fields nor anything more; I shall only feel you." She clung to his arm that was round her.

Oh, to wander like this through eternity. Her heart was filled with ineffable rapture; this was better than heavenly bliss. She had now no longer the glowing wish to kiss him as she had done formerly, to press her mouth to his fresh lips, so that neither of them had any breath left; oh, no, she would blush if she were to do that now. The pa.s.sionate longing which had tormented her until she possessed him no longer tortured her. Now she was [Pg 236] his and he hers, now they were like the angels in Paradise, who live in bliss.

He led her into the Przykop. But when he caught her to his heart in a wild embrace behind the first bushes, she repulsed him. "No, not like that." She was no love whom he had picked up in the street, she was his bride, his wife, and when they later on went to heaven, she wanted to stand pure before the throne of G.o.d.

Martin Becker was speechless; he did not know what to answer to this.

He understood how to kiss, but he did not understand this. It all seemed very strange. Why had she sought him then, hung on his looks?

Why had she immediately fallen into his arms like a ripe apple, which only requires a slight touch, if she had become so prudish all at once, as chaste as one whom you have to teach what love is? Why, even little Rosa could not have been more chaste.

He had to sit down on the moss by her side and only touch her hand. The woman looked about her with dreamy eyes; she could see the fields from the edge of the Przykop. It was pitch-dark in the hollow; he would have liked to go down there with her, but she refused; she wanted to look at the stars above the fields, whose twinkling brilliance was reflected in thousands of dewdrops.

"The splendour of heaven has fallen on the earth," she said softly.

"You've come to me, and I thank you." And then she told him all she wanted to say about her grat.i.tude.

He felt quite ashamed. How beautifully she could express herself. She was a clever woman and a good one too. What a shame it would be if he were to interrupt her now with amorous speeches and strain her to his heart in a violent fit of pa.s.sion as he had [Pg 237] done on the first evening, when he had been groping in the pa.s.sage in the dark and had run against somebody soft, who had pressed herself against the wall, and who, when he whispered in an eager voice, "Is that you, Mrs.

Tiralla?" had flung her arms round his neck and had let herself be led wherever he wanted. That evening she had been like a heifer that has thirsted for a long time, and has been driven through dusty fields, and that on seeing water rushes at it, so that the restraining rope breaks and it drinks and drinks and cannot get enough. Now she was like a saint.

The young fellow would not have ventured to embrace her, although his arms and all his fingers were tingling, and although the nearness of this beautiful woman and the warmth of the summer evening made his blood surge through his veins. They were quite alone, quite hidden. A deep silence reigned, save for a land-rail piping in the corn, and a deer calling deep down in the Przykop--and still he controlled himself.

Everything was so different at Starydwor to what it was elsewhere.

Martin had not come to his age without having held a girl in his arms--as an apprentice at the mill at home and more especially as a soldier--but a woman like this one had never been his. For one short moment a feeling of regret filled his heart at the thought that it might perhaps have been still nicer with Rosa. Besides, he never felt quite happy about this affair. What would his mother have said to it?

For this was a woman, a married woman! The blood mounted to his head--his good old mother, who had been so honest all her life. Or was it desire that drove the blood in this way to his cheeks? Oh, how beautiful this woman was, more beautiful than any of the girls [Pg 238]

he had ever seen in his life. How white her neck looked just where her dress was cut out a little. He could not control himself any longer, he had to kiss it. But she crossed her hands over her white throat and blushed as she whispered, "Not like that, not like that." But when she again and again felt the pressure of his hot lips she could not restrain herself any longer, and clasping him to her bosom with both arms, she cried in a loud, jubilant voice, that echoed through the dark fields, "All the saints be praised. I love you, I love you!"

[Pg 239]

CHAPTER XI

The Paninka at Starydwor had visions again. Marianna spoke of it in the village, and when she met Jendrek, who was at Mr. Jokisch's, she complained to him of having to sleep in the same room as the girl. It was very unpleasant, and she would rather sleep on the straw in the stables, or anywhere, than be with somebody who talked all night long as if it were daytime, and who carried on a conversation with the Lord as though He were a bridegroom whom she was wooing. Mr. Tiralla had better look round for an earthly bridegroom for his daughter, or give her at once to the heavenly one, so that the dear soul might get peace and not toss about and frighten others with her strange goings-on.

Marianna had also complained of it to Mrs. Tiralla, but she had shrugged her shoulders. Everybody knew that the girl was often very excited. It was on account of her age, and it would be all right in time.