"I wished to say to thee that I know all. Thou lovest Hania, and she thee. Selim, thou hast acted dishonorably in ensnaring Hania's heart. I wish to tell thee this, first of all."

Selim grew pale, but every element in him was roused. He rode up to me so closely that our horses almost pushed each other, and asked,--

"Why? why? Reckon with thy words."

"First, because as thou art a Mussulman, and she is a Christian, thou canst not marry her."

"I will change my religion."

"Thy father will not permit that."

"Oh, he will permit it."

"In every case, there are obstacles besides that. Even shouldst thou change thy religion, neither I nor my father will give thee Hania, never and never! Dost understand?"

Selim bent toward me from his saddle, and answered, putting emphasis on every word,--

"I shall not ask thee! Dost understand in thy turn?"

I was still calm, for I kept the news of Hania's departure till the last.

"Not only will she not be thine," answered I, with coolness, and with equal emphasis, "but thou wilt not see her again. I know that thou hast in mind to send letters. I declare that I will watch, and for the first one I will have thy messenger flogged with rods. Thou wilt not come any more to us. I forbid thee."

"Let us see," replied he, panting with rage. "Permit me to speak in my turn. I have not acted dishonorably, but thou hast. Now I see clearly. I asked thee if thou wert in love with her; thy answer was, 'No!' I wanted to withdraw while there was time; thou didst reject the sacrifice. Who is to blame? Thou didst say falsely that thou wert not in love with her.

Through vanity, through egotistical pride, thou wert ashamed to confess thy love. Thou didst love in darkness, I in light. Thou didst love secretly, I openly. Thou didst poison her life; I tried to make it happy. Who is to blame? I would have withdrawn; God knows I would. But to-day it is too late. To-day she loves me; and listen to what I say: Ye may forbid me your house, ye may intercept my letters; but I swear that I will not yield up Hania, that I will not forget her, that I will love her always and seek her everywhere. I act directly and honorably; but I love. I love above all things on earth; my whole life is in my love; I should die without it. I do not wish to bring unhappiness into thy house; but remember that there is in me now something of such kind that I myself fear it. I am ready for anything. Oh, if ye work any wrong on Hania--"

He said all this hastily; then he was pale and set his teeth. A mighty love had possessed that fiery Eastern nature, and it radiated from him like heat from a flame; but I paid no heed to that, and answered with icy and cold decision,--

"I have not come here to listen to thy confessions. I jeer at thy threats, and I again repeat: Hania will never be thine."

"Listen once more," said Selim: "I will not try to tell the greatness of my love for Hania, because I could not express it, and thou couldst not understand it. But I swear to thee that, in spite of all my love, if she loved thee now, I should still find in my soul noble feelings enough to renounce her forever. Henryk, why should we be rivals for Hania? Thou hast always been noble. Listen, then: give her up, and afterward ask even my life of me. Here is my hand, Henryk! The question is of Hania,--Hania, remember."

And he bent toward me with open arms, but I reined back my horse.

"Leave the care of Hania to me and my father. We have already taken thought for her. I have the honor to inform you that the day after to-morrow Hania will go abroad, and that thou wilt never see her hereafter. Now farewell."

"Ah! in that case we shall meet again."

"We shall!"

I turned my horse and rode home without looking back.

It was gloomy in our house during those two days before Hania's departure. Pani d'Yves and my little sisters went away the day following the conversation with my father. There remained only my father, Kazio, I, the priest, and Hania. The poor girl knew now that she must go, and this news she received with despair. Evidently she thought to seek salvation and the last plank of safety in me; but I, divining this, strove not to be alone with her one moment. I knew myself sufficiently; and I knew that with tears she could do whatever she liked with me, and that I could not refuse her anything. I avoided even her glance, for I could not endure that prayer, as it were, for compassion which was depicted in it whenever she looked at my father or me.

On the other hand, even though I wished to intercede for her, I knew that it would be of no avail, for my father never changed a thing that he had once settled, and withal a certain shame kept me far from Hania.

In her presence I was ashamed of my last conversation with Selim, of my recent harshness, of my whole role, and finally of this, that without approaching her I still followed her from a distance. But I had reason to follow her. I knew that Selim was circling about our house day and night, like a bird of prey.

On the second day after the conversation I saw Hania hide hastily a written paper, beyond doubt a letter to or from Selim. I divined even that perhaps they would see each other; but though I watched in the gray hour for Selim, I could not catch him.

Meanwhile two days passed quickly, like an arrow through the air. On the eve of the day when she was to pass the night at Ustrytsi, my father went to the next town to buy horses, and took Kazio to try them. Father Ludvik and I were to escort Hania. I noticed that as the decisive moment drew near a wonderful disquiet took possession of her. She changed in the eyes, and her whole body trembled. At moments she shivered as if terrified. At last the sun set in a kind of gloom, behind thick yellowish clouds piled on one another,--clouds that threatened storm and hail. On the western horizon distant thunder-rolls were heard in succession, like the terrible grumbling of a coming tempest. The air was sultry and filled with electricity. The birds had hidden under roofs and trees; only swallows were rushing unquietly through the air. The leaves ceased to rustle on the trees and hung as if they had fainted. From the direction of the farmyard came the plaintive bellowing of cattle, returning from pasture. A species of gloomy unrest pervaded all nature.

Father Ludvik had the windows closed. I wished to reach Ustrytsi before the outbreak of the storm, so I sprang up to go to the stable and hurry the stable-boys. When I was leaving the room Hania stood up, but sat down immediately. I looked at her. She blushed and then turned pale.

"The air oppresses me somehow!" said she; and, sitting near the window, she began to fan herself with a handkerchief.

Her strange disquiet increased evidently.

"We might wait," said the priest; "the storm will burst forth in half an hour or so."

"In half an hour we shall be at Ustrytsi," answered I; "besides, who knows but our fears may be vain." And I ran to the stable.

My horse was saddled already, but there was delay with the carriage, as usual. Half an hour had passed before the coachman drove up to the porch with the carriage. I was behind it on horseback. The storm seemed to be just overhanging, but I did not wish to delay any longer. They brought out Hania's trunks at once and strapped them behind to the carriage.

Father Ludvik was waiting on the porch in a white linen coat, a white umbrella in his hand.

"Where is Hania? Is she ready?" asked I.

"She is ready. She went half an hour ago to pray in the chapel."

I went to the chapel, but did not find Hania. I went to the dining-room, from there to the drawing-room,--no Hania in any place.

"Hania! Hania!" I began to call.

No one gave answer. Somewhat alarmed, I went to her room, thinking that she might have grown faint. In her room the old woman Vengrosia was sitting and crying.

"Is it time," asked she, "to take farewell of the young lady?"

"Where is the young lady?" asked I, impatiently.

"She went to the garden."

I ran to the garden immediately.

"Hania, Hania! It is time to go."

Silence.

"Hania! Hania!"

As if in answer to me the leaves began to rustle under the first breath of the tempest; a few large drops of rain fell, and silence set in again.

"What is this?" asked I of myself, and felt that the hair was rising on my head with fright.

"Hania! Hania!"

For a moment it seemed to me that from the other end of the garden I heard an answer. I recovered myself. "Oh, what a fool!" thought I, and ran in the direction whence the voice came. I found nothing and nobody.

On that side the garden ended at a paling; beyond that was a road toward a sheepfold in the field. I seized hold of the paling and looked on the road. It was empty; but Ignas, a farm-boy, was herding geese in a ditch near the paling.

"Ignas!"