"How could he have Hania in his head? I know not. For that matter, I did not ask; but I think that he has renounced her altogether."

"That is a question."

"In every case some one else will get her; be at rest on that point."

Here Kazio made a wry face, student fashion, and added with the mien of a rogue,--

"I know even who. God grant only that--"

"That what?"

"That she return as soon as possible," added he, hurriedly.

These words pacified me completely. A couple of days later, in the evening, my father was sitting near me with my mother. He and I began to play chess. After a while mother went out, leaving the door open.

Through the door a whole row of rooms was visible; at the end of this row was Hania's room. I looked at it, but I could not see anything, for mine was the only room lighted. Hania's door, so far as I could see in the darkness, was closed.

Then some one went in, as it were Doctor Stanislav, and did not shut the door.

My heart beat unquietly. There was light in Hania's room.

The light fell in a bright column to the dark neighboring hall; and on the background of that clear column it seemed to me that I saw a delicate line of smoke, curling as dust curls in sunlight.

Gradually an indefinable odor struck my nostrils, but an odor which became stronger and stronger every moment. Suddenly the hair rose on my head. I recognized the odor of juniper.

"Father! what is that?" cried I, throwing the chess-men and chess-board on the floor.

My father jumped up, confused, perceiving also that cursed odor of the juniper, and closed the door of the room as quickly as possible.

"That is nothing," said he, hurriedly.

But I was already on my feet; and though I staggered, I pushed quickly toward the door.

"They are burning juniper!" cried I. "I want to go there."

My father caught me by the waist.

"Do not go! do not go! I forbid thee."

Despair seized me; so grasping the bandages around my head, I cried,--

"Well, I swear then that I will tear off these bandages, and open my wounds with my own hands. Hania is dead! I want to see her."

"Hania is not dead. I give thee my word!" cried my father, seizing my hands and struggling with me. "She was sick, but she is better. Calm thyself! Calm thyself! Have we not had misfortune enough already? I will tell thee everything, but lie down. Thou canst not go to her. Thou wouldst destroy her. But lie down; I swear to thee that she is better."

My strength failed me, and I fell on the bed, repeating only,--

"My God! My God!"

"Henryk, come to thyself! Art thou a woman? Be a man. She is no longer in danger. I have promised to tell thee everything, and I will tell it, but on condition that thou collect thy strength. Lay thy head on the pillow. That way. Cover thyself, and be quiet."

I was obedient.

"I am quiet; but more quickly, father, more quickly! Let me know everything right away. Is she really better? What was the matter with her?"

"Listen, then: that night in which Selim took her away there was a storm. Hania wore only a thin dress which got wet to the last thread.

Besides, that mad step cost her not a little. In Horeli, where Selim took her, she had no change of clothes, so she returned in that same little wet dress. That very night she got a chill and a violent fever.

The next day old Vengrosia could not hold her tongue, and told her about thy trouble. She even said that thou wert killed. Evidently that hurt her. In the evening she was unconscious. The doctor did not know for a long time what the matter was. Thou knowest that small-pox was in the village; it is here yet. Hania caught the small-pox."

I closed my eyes, for it seemed that I was losing consciousness; at last I said,--

"Go on, father, for I am calm."

"There were moments of great danger," continued he. "That same day on which we looked on thee as lost, she too was almost dying. But to both of you a lucky crisis came. To-day she is recovering, as well as thou.

In a week or so she will be perfectly well."

"But what happened in the house? Oh, what happened?"

My father was silent and looked at me carefully, as if in fear that his words might have shocked my still feeble mind. I was lying motionless.

Silence continued a long time. I was collecting my thoughts and was looking at the new misfortune. My father rose and began to walk with long strides through the room, looking at me from time to time.

"Father," said I, after a long silence.

"What, my boy?"

"Is she--is she--greatly marked?"

My voice was calm and low, but my heart was beating audibly in expectation of the answer.

"Yes," answered my father. "As usual after the small-pox. Maybe there will be no marks. There are marks, now; but they will disappear, of course."

I turned to the wall. I felt that something worse than usual was happening to me.

A week later, however, I was on my feet, and in two weeks I saw Hania.

Ah! I will not even attempt to describe what had become of that beautiful, ideal face. When the poor girl came out of her room, and I saw her for the first time, though I had sworn to myself previously that I would not show the least emotion, I became weak and fell into a dead faint. Oh, how terribly marked she was!

When they brought me out of the faint, Hania was weeping aloud, certainly over herself and me, for I too was more like a shadow than a man.

"I am the cause of all this!" repeated she, sobbing; "I am the cause."

"Hania, my dear sister, do not weep; I will love thee always!" and I seized her hands to raise them to my lips as before. Suddenly I shivered and drew back my lips. Those hands, once so white, delicate, and beautiful, were dreadful. They were covered with black spots, and were rough, almost repulsive.

"I will always love thee!" repeated I, with an effort.

I lied. I had immense compassion in my heart, and the tearful love of a brother; but the old feeling had flown away, as a bird flies, without leaving a trace.

I went to the garden; and in that same hop arbor where the first confession had taken place between Selim and Hania, I cried, as after the death of some dear one. In truth, the former Hania had died for me, or rather, my love had died; and in my heart there remained merely emptiness and pain, as if from an incurable wound, and a memory that presses tears from the eyes.

I sat long and long. The quiet autumn evening began to flush in the twilight on the tree-tops. They looked for me in the house; at last my father entered the hop arbor. He looked at me and respected my sorrow.