"Why?"

"I am afraid that the old man will not let him fight. He will confine him a time and think that sufficient. But for me that is little, little!

If Selim is in prison already, you will not see him; that cannot be brought about through the old man; but a letter may be left for any one.

Besides, I shall not tell my father that I am going to fight. He might challenge the old Mirza, and the old Mirza is not to blame. But if Selim and I fight to begin with, there will be no reason for their fighting.

Indeed, you said yourself that I must fight with him."

"I thought this way: fight, fight! That is always the best way for a noble; whether old or young, it is one. For some one else, a farce! but not for a noble. Well, write; thou art correct."

I sat down and wrote as follows: "Thou art contemptible. With this letter I slap thee in the face. If thou wilt not appear to-morrow near Vah's cottage with pistols or with swords, thou wilt be the last of cowards, which very likely thou art."

I sealed the letter and gave it to Pan Ustrytski. Then we went out; the brichkas had come already. Before sitting in mine, one terrifying thought came to my head.

"But," said I to Pan Ustrytski, "if Selim took Hania not to Horeli?"

"If not to Horeli, then he has gained time. It is night; there are fifty roads in every direction, and--look for a wind in the fields. But where could he have taken her?"

"To the town of N."

"Sixteen miles with the same horses. Then be at rest. A farce! isn't it?

I will go to N. to-morrow, to-day even, but first to Horeli. I repeat to thee, be at rest."

An hour later I was at home. It was late at night, very late even, but lights were gleaming everywhere in the windows. Soon people were running with candles through various rooms. When my brichka stopped before the porch, the doors squeaked, and Father Ludvik came out with a lamp in his hand.

"Be quiet!" whispered he, putting his finger to his mouth.

"But Hania?" inquired I, feverishly.

"Hania is here already. The old Mirza brought her back. Come to my room.

I will tell thee all."

I went to the priest's room.

"What happened to thee?"

"I pursued them. Selim shot my horse. Is father here?"

"He came just after the old Mirza had gone. Oh, misfortune! misfortune!

The doctor is with him now. We were afraid that he would have an apoplectic stroke. He wanted to go and challenge the old Mirza immediately. Don't go to thy father, for it might harm him. To-morrow beg him not to challenge the Mirza. That would be a grievous sin, and, besides, the old man is not to blame. He beat Selim and confined him; Hania he brought home himself. He enjoined silence on his servants. It is fortunate that he did not find thy father."

It turned out that Pan Ustrytski had foreseen everything perfectly.

"How is Hania?"

"Every thread on her was wet. She has a fever. Thy father gave her a dreadful scolding. The poor child!"

"Did Doctor Stanislav see her?"

"He did, and commanded her to go to bed without delay. Old Vengrosia is sitting near her. Wait here for me. I will go to thy father and tell him that thou hast come. He sent horsemen after thee in every direction.

Kazio too is not at home, for he has gone to look for thee. O God! O God, Thou Almighty, what has happened here!"

So saying, the priest went to my father. But I could not wait in his room. I ran to Hania. I did not wish to see her, oh, no! that would cost her too much. I wished rather to be sure that she had really returned, that she was again out of danger, under our roof, near me, sheltered from the tempest and the terrible events of that day.

Wonderful feelings shook me when I approached her room. Not anger, not hatred, did I feel in my heart, but a great and deep sorrow, an inexpressible compassion for that poor unfortunate victim of Selim's madness. I thought of her as of a dove, which a falcon had swept away.

Ah! how much humiliation the poor thing must have felt, through what shame she must have passed in Horeli, in presence of the old Mirza! I swore to myself that I would not reproach her to-day or ever, and would act with her as if nothing had happened.

At the moment when I reached the chamber door, it opened; old Vengrosia came out. I stopped her and inquired,--

"Is the young lady sleeping?"

"She is not; she is not," repeated the old woman. "Oh, my golden young master, if you had seen what was here! When the old lord bellowed at the young lady, I thought the poor dear would die on the spot. And she was terrified and wet through. O Jesus! Jesus!"

"But now how is she?"

"You will see that she is sick altogether. It is lucky that the doctor is here."

I commanded Vengrosia to return at once to Hania, and not to shut the door; for I wished to look at her from a distance. In fact, looking from the dark chamber through the open door, I saw her sitting on the bed, dressed in night-clothing. A deep flush was on her face; her eyes were gleaming. I saw besides that she was breathing quickly; evidently she had a fever.

I hesitated for a time whether to go in or not; but at that moment Father Ludvik touched my shoulder.

"Thy father calls thee," said he.

"Father Ludvik, she is sick!"

"The doctor will come at once. Meanwhile thou wilt talk to thy father.

Go, go; it is late."

"What o'clock?"

"One in the morning."

I struck my forehead with my hand. But I had to fight with Selim at five in the morning.

CHAPTER XI.

After a talk with my father which lasted half an hour, I returned to the station, but did not lie down. I calculated that to reach Vah's at five I must leave the house by four at least, therefore I had not quite three hours before me. Soon after, Father Ludvik came to see if I were not ill after that mad ride, and if I had changed clothing properly after being wet; but for me to be wet was the same as not to be wet. The priest urged me to go to bed at once; meanwhile he forgot himself in talk, and so an hour passed.

He narrated in detail all that the old Mirza had said. It seemed that Selim had simply committed an act of madness; but, as he told his father, he saw no other method. It seemed to him that after the flight, his father would have no escape but to bless him, and we none but to give him Hania. It was also disclosed that after talking with me not only did he write to Hania, but he had a meeting with her; and it was then that he persuaded her to flee with him. The girl, though she did not comprehend the results of this step, resisted instinctively with all her might; but Selim involved her with his prayers and his love. He represented to her that the flight was simply a drive to Horeli, after which they would be united forever and be happy. He assured her that afterward he would bring her to us, but as his betrothed; that my father would agree to everything; that I must agree, and, what was more, I would console myself easily with Lola Ustrytski. Finally, he implored, entreated, and begged Hania. He said that for her he would sacrifice everything, even life; that he could not survive separation; that he would drown, shoot, or poison himself. And then he cast himself at her feet and so persuaded her that she agreed to everything. But when the flight began, and they had started, Hania grew terrified and begged him with tears to return; but he would not, for, as he told his father, he forgot the whole world then.

This was what the old Mirza told Father Ludvik, and he told it, perhaps, to show that though Selim ventured on a mad deed he had done so in good faith. Taking everything into consideration, Father Ludvik did not share the anger of my father, who was indignant at Hania's ingratitude. According to the priest Hania was not ungrateful; she was simply led astray by sinful worldly love. For that reason the priest gave me some edifying instruction about worldly feelings, but I did not take it ill at all of Hania that her love was worldly; I would have been willing to pay with my life had that love been differently directed. I felt the greatest compassion for Hania, and moreover my heart had so grown to her that, had I wished to tear it away, I should have had to tear it asunder. Therefore I begged Father Ludvik to take her part before my father, and to explain to him her act as he had to me. I took farewell of him then, for I wished to be alone.

After the priest had gone, I took down that famous old sabre, given me by my father, and the pistols, to prepare for the meeting of the morning. Of that meeting I had had neither the time nor the wish to think hitherto. I wished to fight for life and death; that was all. As to Selim, I was convinced that he would not disappoint me. I wiped my sabre carefully with soft cotton along its broad blue blade. In spite of something like two hundred years, it had not one dent, though in its day it had opened not a few helmets and breastplates, and drunk no little Swedish, Tartar, and Turkish blood. The golden inscription, "Jesus, Mary," shone distinctly. I tried the edge; it was as fine as the edge of a satin ribbon. The blue turquoises on the hilt seemed to smile, as if begging for a hand to grasp and warm them.

Having finished with the sabre, I took the pistols, for I knew not what weapons Selim might choose. I dropped olive oil on the locks, put bits of linen cloth around the bullets, and loaded both carefully. They were ready now. It was three o'clock. When I had finished the work, I threw myself into an armchair and began to meditate. From the course of events, and from what Father Ludvik had told me, one point became more and more evident: that I was to blame not a little for all that had happened. I asked myself if I had fulfilled properly the duty of guardian which old Mikolai had imposed on me, and I answered, No. Had I thought of Hania, and not of myself? I answered, No! Of whom had I been thinking in all this affair? Directly of myself. And meanwhile Hania, that mild, defenceless creature, was among us, like a dove among birds of prey. I could not stifle in myself the immensely bitter thought that Selim and I had torn her like a tempting booty; and in that struggle, during which the robber actors were thinking mainly of themselves, she had suffered most who was least to blame. Now in a couple of hours we were to have our last battle concerning her.

These thoughts were bitter and grievous. It turned out that this whole world of nobles was too rude for Hania. Unfortunately my mother had not been at home for a long time, and we men had hands that were too rough; we had crushed between them the delicate flower thrown among us by fate.