He made the sign of the cross as though to confirm the thought. Then he turned to go indoors again. What could he do out there? There was no work to be done, a grey, heavy November mist hung over everything. What had become of Martin? He could no longer understand his friend. How well they had formerly a.s.sisted each other to kill time during these dark days. But now Martin could find no rest at Starydwor, he took no pleasure in anything, all he thought of was the first of December, when he was to leave them.

The lonely man shivered. Rosa would also be leaving after Christmas; even now she sat in her room upstairs as if it were a cell, and she was happy only when praying alone. She hardly ever appeared downstairs, she seemed to shun everybody. How different it all might have been, how splendid! But his father had ruined everything, everything.

[Pg 282]

The man uttered a curse as he entered the house. He went in search of his friend. Martin, however, was not pleased to see him; he had begun to turn his drawers and looked up disagreeably surprised when Mikolai came so unexpectedly into the room.

"What do you want?" he asked in an angry voice, hastily throwing a bundle of clothes into his box which he locked.

"Are you already packing?" inquired Mikolai. Then he added, "I suppose you can't await the day of your departure? But it hasn't come yet."

Martin cast an uncertain glance at his friend. "I know that," he said softly, and then added hastily and in a louder voice, as though he wanted to convince himself and friend of the truth of what he was saying, "I'm not thinking of it either. There's plenty of time; I'm not in any hurry."

Who believed that? Mikolai no longer believed his friend; why did he not look him in the face? _Psia krew_, something had come between Martin and him which he could not fathom, but it was there, nevertheless.

He felt very dejected as he left the room, the walls of which had so often echoed with their laughter. Now no laughter resounded within the thick walls of the old house. He stumbled up the dark stairs to Rosa's room; he would go to her and say, "Come, laugh with me, Roschen, or at least talk to me. I can't bear it any longer."

But when he suddenly burst into the room his sister jumped up with a terrified, eager look. She had been sitting near the low window, through whose curtained panes there hardly came a gleam of light. Some needlework had been lying on her lap, but it had slipped down and lay on the floor, and there was a [Pg 283] flushed, expectant look on her face. Who was that?

"Oh, it's you." It sounded as if she were disappointed. She grew pale, and her lids drooped wearily, but she forced herself to smile. "Good morning, Mikolai."

"Good morning, sister mine." He took hold of her hands and gazed at her. She seemed so tall--or had she looked like that for some time?

"Pretty girl," he said playfully, and pinched her cheek that felt like velvet.

"Don't talk nonsense." She freed herself indignantly and her face darkened. But when she noticed that he looked put out, she smiled a wan smile, and whispered as she clung to him, "Don't be cross. I must be preparing myself, you know, and such things are no longer for me."

"What rubbish, what nonsense." He grew seriously angry. "I've had enough of these goings-on here. The old man drinks the whole day, you pray the whole day, and there's not a bit of happiness in the house.

_Psia krew_, let the lightning----"

"Sh!" She laid her hand on his mouth soothingly. "You mustn't swear, Mikolai," she begged softly, "it's sinful. Come, sit down."

She drew him with her to her chair near the window, the only seat in the narrow room except the stool beside Marianna's bed. Her delicate fingers forced him down and he squatted in front of her, whilst she put her arms round his neck.

"When I shall no longer be with you--it won't be long now, only three, four, five weeks more." She counted and then sighed, "No, still six."

"So you count like Becker," he interrupted her angrily. "You're longing to get away like he is. Nice love and friendship that, I must say."

[Pg 284]

She had flushed when he mentioned his friend's name, and a restless look had come into her eyes, but she soon grew calm again. She gazed at her brother with eyes full of love as she said, "You'll miss me, Mikolai, I know that very well. And I shall miss you too. But I'll pray for you. Oh, dear"--her voice was very sad, and big tears began to trickle down her cheeks--"I have to pray for so much, for so many." She wrung her hands. "My life will not be long enough for it all."

"Oh, yes, for father," he said in a low voice, and his head drooped.

She nodded: "And for mother too."

"What do you mean?" He looked at her in surprise. "She'll earn her seat in heaven by her own merits, she won't require your prayers."

"Who knows!" There was an expression of doubt in the girl's pure face, and she stared straight in front of her as though she saw something that others could not see. She trembled, and her voice was full of agony as she continued, "Who can know for certain that she does not require anybody to pray for her? Look, look!" She seized her brother's hand, and he shuddered at the peculiar expression in her eyes, that had become even more fixed than before. "I see mother in a white dress--oh, how beautiful she looks--I see her flying up to heaven--but look, look!

There are spots on the hem of her dress. All those dark spots--do you see them, Mikolai?--are dragging her down. I'm not sure of it, not sure of it"--she shook her head, and there was a troubled gleam in her eyes and a terrified look on her face--"I love her so, I love her so, but there's something." She pa.s.sed her hand over her eyes. "I can't wipe it away, it's there and it tortures me. Mikolai, brother!" [Pg 285] She threw her arms round his neck, sobbing bitterly, and her tears wetted his cheek. "You must love me, love me dearly."

Her trembling lips sought his and imprinted a long kiss on them. He kissed her tenderly in return; his dear little sister, and she wanted to leave him?

"Speak to the old man," he begged. All at once he felt convinced that his sister would be able to alter everything. "Talk to him," he said ingenuously, "remonstrate with him, point out to him how wrong it is to drink, and he won't do it any more. Then all will be right. And you needn't go into a convent."

"I'll speak to him. I'll remonstrate with him. But I shall go into a convent all the same," she added in a low voice.

He did not hear her last words, he was too happy at the thought of her speaking to their father. Yes, there was some truth in it, there was something holy about Rosa, she could convert heathens, he felt sure.

He whistled as he went downstairs.

Martin Becker gave a start when he heard his friend's clear tones. How happy he seemed to be. An embarra.s.sed smile crossed his face; to-morrow by this time Mikolai would not be whistling so contentedly, for he, Martin, if G.o.d were merciful to him, would be away over the fields, far away, almost there where the setting sun had left a yellow streak in the sky. "Mikolai will have to forgive me," he murmured, and went on with the occupation in which he had been disturbed before.

He had secured himself against interruption now, for he had bolted the door. He was packing his belongings. He had arranged and hung up his things in the room as though he had intended remaining at Starydwor for ever. But now he tore down his parents' [Pg 286] photographs and those of his sisters and brothers, which he had hung up over his bed, and the picture of Mikolai and himself as soldiers, and the gay-coloured calendar which had looked so nice on the wall--no, he would have to leave the calendar, Mikolai would miss it too much.

He squeezed everything into his wooden box, and, as it would not close at once, sat down on it impatiently. How fortunate it was that it was no bigger, and that he could carry it comfortably on his shoulder!

He used to awake every night when the old clock in the pa.s.sage struck the hour of midnight. What had become of his blessed sleep? To-night he would wake as usual, and then he would lie with open eyes and listen--one o'clock, two o'clock--and when everybody was lying in that deep, sound sleep which comes in the early hours of the morning, he would quietly put on the rest of his clothes--he would not undress himself entirely--and steal out of the room in his socks with his boots in his hand and his box on his shoulder. Softly, very softly. But that would hardly be necessary, for Mikolai always slept soundly, and there was n.o.body else downstairs except Mr. Tiralla, and he no longer counted, of course. So he could easily get away, for the key was in the front door and the farm gate was quickly opened. Then he would run across the fields--it would be dawn by that time and he would be able to see the path--away, away to Starawies. And then through Starawies, where everybody would still be asleep, away, away to the station in Gradewitz. The first train left at eight o'clock, he could easily catch it. And when he was in the train, then--the man drew a deep sigh of relief--then G.o.d had been merciful to him, then he was saved.

Martin did not take into consideration that he was [Pg 287] treating his friend badly. True, the thought had occurred to him for a moment that he had given Mikolai his word and hand, but his duty to himself seemed of more importance to him. His everlasting salvation was at stake. He had felt that since the last time he had gone to confession, and he felt it daily with renewed pangs of conscience. But he also felt that he was paying a high price for his salvation. How she crept round him with her soft footsteps, making the circles smaller and smaller.

Had she not brushed past him in the pa.s.sage the day before, and whispered so close to his ear that her breath had tickled him, "Are you coming?" If she were to repeat that again and again, would he continue to have sufficient strength of will not to follow her? She knew how to talk and make excuses. How sweetly she could talk. Had she no anxiety about her own salvation? On thinking it over, he could not remember ever having heard her say anything irreverent or impure. When she sat opposite him at table, quieter now than she had ever been before, and mutely raised her big eyes to the ceiling, she looked exactly like the pictures of the Virgin Mary whose heart is pierced with seven swords owing to her grief for her Son. Oh, no, she was no bad woman, she was a good woman--and still, it was a sin to remain near her any longer.

Martin had lain awake a long time the night before, for the words, "Are you coming?" still rung in his ears and made his blood course through his veins like fire. There was such a p.r.i.c.king restlessness about him, that he felt as if he could not remain in bed any longer. But when he had at last fallen asleep after tossing about for a long time, he had dreamt of his dead mother. She had appeared to him, and that [Pg 288] portended something. And she had held up her finger as if in warning--or had he only thought of that later on? He could not be sure, but next morning, when he felt as tired, as heavy, and as worn-out as though he had been dragging something that had been too heavy for him, it came over him like a divine inspiration; this could go on no longer, he would have to leave at once and not wait for the time that had been fixed. His mother had come to fetch him, her anxiety for her child left her no peace at the throne of G.o.d.

And Martin felt that he would have to go away secretly, without any leave-taking. If she were press her lips to his, if her tearful eyes were to implore him with a look like that of a wounded hind, if she were to say, "My sun, my love, remain in my sky. It is G.o.d's will that the sun shall remain in the sky, for otherwise it would be dark night, and then I should die"--then he would not go. He would remain, and then--well, then? He uttered an incoherent prayer. He was sorry for Mikolai; he felt a stab in his heart when he heard him whistling. But he was glad he had not seen Rosa that day. If only he did not see her again.

Martin shunned Rosa. He did not know himself whether the feeling he had for the girl was a pious awe, because she was destined for the convent, or an awe in which there was something like shame, shame because he had listened to her when she lay on her bed and whispered her innermost thoughts aloud.

The man sighed as he pa.s.sed his hand over his brow on which the sweat was standing. How deeply he had sunk, more deeply than in the deepest pond in the Przykop. The only thing that could help him now [Pg 289]

would be to tear himself away from Starydwor by force, without any consideration for anybody.

He remained in his room the whole morning, but when he heard the rattling of plates and Marianna's call to dinner he stole past the sitting-room door and out into the yard. He did not care to eat. He stumbled about among the trees in the Przykop where n.o.body could see him, and gave a start every time an animal stirred, or a dry leaf fell to the ground. His heart felt broken, but the hope of salvation shone feebly before his eyes. He would soon be away. If only this day were over!

It was a short day in November, but still it seemed endless at Starydwor. Mrs. Tiralla was full of anxiety and impatience. Martin had spent the morning in his room, and he had not come to the midday meal.

Where was he? She had sought him everywhere and had not found him. She was trembling--where could he be? The calm which she had lately acquired had all at once disappeared; she forgot that the saints held her fate in their hands; all she could think of was that Martin had gone away without a word. Was he coming back?

She wandered about in an agony of fear, she could not remain a quarter of an hour in one place. She ran up and down stairs, from her room down into the pa.s.sage and then up again, then out into the yard, where she stood at the gate without cloak or shawl, and where the cutting wind caught hold of her ap.r.o.n and spread it out like a sail, whilst she looked about for Martin. But she could not find the one her heart was longing for.

The fields lay desolate, the Przykop yawned like a [Pg 290] grave in which there is no living thing to be found Where had he gone? She sought his footprints, as a dog seeks those of his master, but the rain and snow had obliterated them, and her eyes, full of tears, soon saw nothing but a grey, impenetrable mist.

She ran back into the house and began to question Mikolai. Where had Martin gone? He must know, for between him and his friend there was always a perfect understanding.

Her stepson stared at her in amazement. Why was she so angry? Becker would be sure to come back when it grew dark. Maybe he had gone to the village; it was long since he, Mikolai, knew anything about his whereabouts.

That did not add to the woman's peace of mind. So Martin kept away from Mikolai too. He was separating himself more and more from them all. "O G.o.d, have mercy! let him come back, let him come back!" She was like a hunted hind that is seeking a place of shelter.

So she ran to Rosa. It was long since she had been to her room; she had not found time to go. But why had Rosa kept away from her? Surely it was more fitting for the child to come to her mother than the mother to her child? Now, however, in her great anxiety she fled to her tender-hearted daughter.