"Because it would only betray us outside here; nor do we want it, for the moon is still high."

"But the cellar might catch fire?"

"All the better for us, for then they will not be able to pursue us that way if they find out how we have escaped."

"But if the cellar burn, the house may burn too."

"And what then? Is there anything burning there which my pretty mistress or myself would greatly miss?"

CHAPTER XXIV.

A true relation of the thoughtlessness of youth, and the artifices whereby women enthrall their lovers.

"I am afraid!" said Michal, when she found herself in the middle of the dark forest.

"What's there to be afraid of?" cried Pirka. "The wild beasts, the bears, and the wolves, have been scared away into other regions by the shooting match between the county militia and the robbers, so that they won't come back again in a hurry. The robber bands, too, have been rooted out. At this moment they are dancing in the air round the bastions of Eperies. We shall have peace and quiet now for at least a year to come. Not that the people have been terrified by the fate of the executed robbers; not a bit of it. On the contrary, many a man will be thereby stimulated to live and die as bravely as they have done. But it will be a year at least before the new robber bands seek (and perhaps find) the treasures hidden by the older ones. No amount of torture could force from the prisoners the secret of their hidden treasures. They endured everything rather than give up their gold and silver. Till there is another outbreak of highwaymen, therefore, every traveler may go singing through the woods without the slightest fear. From robbers and wild beasts you are now quite secure."

"It is G.o.d that I am afraid of," said Michal.

The witch pressed the wrists of the young woman together till they cracked again.

"If ever you dare to repeat that word again," said she, "I'll leave you in the midst of this dark wood, and then you may either fly or seek Him whom you fear so much; I'll wash my hands of you."

Then Michal said not another word, but followed the witch, who led her so surely through the sylvan labyrinth that she actually stopped at a place in the midst of the thickest thicket, drew a knife from out of the trunk of a tree, and showed it to Michal.

"Look! This knife I stuck into that tree in the broad daylight, as I pa.s.sed by this way, and now I have found it again in darkest night."

Not an hour had pa.s.sed, and the moon still stood in the sky, when they arrived at the kopanitscha of Gorgo.

"Here we stop," cried Pirka. "This is the house where the doves bill one another on the gables."

Just then, however, all the doves were asleep; but in the courtyard a woman was wandering about, who raised her hands toward the moon, and made all sorts of frantic gestures.

Pirka greeted her with strangely sounding words, not one of which Michal understood, and the kopanitschar's wife answered in the same fashion.

"Have you offered up a witch's prayer, and if so, for what have you prayed?"

"I have prayed that the devil may take the old vihodar."

"He has got him already. Janko bit him in the neck, and immediately he was a dead man."

"Beelzebub be praised!" cried the kopanitschar's wife, and she frisked about for joy.

"Cook us some supper, sisterkin," said Pirka to Annie.

"What sort of a guest have you brought me?" asked the latter.

"You know well enough without being told."

Then Annie recognized Michal, and laughed with all her might.

Witches always rejoice when they see an innocent soul rushing to perdition.

With that the pair of them led her into the kitchen, and made a great fire, on which they put sundry pots. But Pirka filled a smaller pan with water, and after performing all sorts of mystic hocus-pocus over it, put it also on the fire, first of all throwing into it a sc.r.a.p of paper, on which the word Valentine was written.

"What does that pot do on the fire?" asked Annie.

"As soon as all the water in it has boiled away, so that nothing remains in it but the sc.r.a.p of paper, my buck-goat will bring this pretty little lady her stately lover. Make ready the supper, I say, there will be five of us."

"I don't like odd numbers," said Annie; but she forthwith fell to killing and plucking fowls, and baking little cakes.

Michal sat at the window and shivered.

During the cooking, Annie sang obscene flower songs, and Pirka kept on drawing her pan away from the fire and putting it on again.

Annie asked her why she did that.

"When the water boils fiercely, my buck with the stately lover is running so fast that the poor young man can hardly draw his breath; but when I remove the pan from the fire, he goes along more quietly, and the poor fellow can take breath again."

In ordinary circ.u.mstances Michal would have laughed aloud at such superst.i.tion. But to-day she had gone through so many dreadful things, and she was so staggered by the actual fulfillment of two of the events predicted by Pirka's cards, that she dared not deny the possibility of a third. Half of the witch's prophecy had already come to pa.s.s. She had escaped from her husband's house, and was now awaiting her lover in a strange place. Everything was possible after that.

"He is coming now. He is quite near!" cried Pirka, looking into the pan. "I already hear the galloping of my buck-goat, I already hear his four feet on the roofs of the houses. Now he is springing over the Krivan, now he is running along the Polish Saddle.[3] Hi! Hi!

How he is galloping! Quick, my little buck, quick! quick!"

[Footnote 3: Two of the Karpathian Alps.]

Michal's common sense was quite dazed by all these insane proceedings. She was no longer mistress of herself.

"And now it's time to dress," continued Pirka, and with that she took off Michal's peasant garb, and arrayed her in a rosy colored robe. She laced tightly her bodice to show off her waist, and combed out and plaited her long tresses to make them crisp and wavy. Her sweetheart was coming, so she must look nice to please him. The young lady was quite bewildered. She let them do what they liked with her.

Outside the moon had gone down. It had grown quite dark. A silent, starless night, dank with heavy falling dew.

"Now he'll be here almost directly," cried the witch, as the water bubbled away at the bottom of the pan.

And now the blare of a farogato began to resound through the silent night. Nearer and nearer came the music. Michal's heart beat quickly. She recognized her favorite song. She scarcely knew whether she was awake or dreaming, whether she was in the world or out of it. There was a buzzing in her ears. The air around her was full of dancing specters. Her body seemed too narrow for her soul. Nearer and nearer came the song. At the bottom of the pan, the last drop of water had long since evaporated.

"My buck-goat has arrived," cried the witch, in triumph.

At that moment, Valentine Kalondai entered and advanced toward Michal.

It was no longer joy, it was frenzy which took possession of the young woman. Up she sprang with a shriek, and then threw herself on her beloved's breast, wound her arms round his neck, pressed her lips to his mouth as if she would have inhaled his very soul, and wetted his cheeks with her tears.

How long did they hold each other thus embraced? An eternity perhaps, like that which Mirza Shah experienced when, at the Persian Magian's command, he crept under a tub, and dreamed away a whole lifetime in a single moment. At least, Michal fancied that it must have been a very long time, for on coming to herself again she said, with a sigh: "What a pity that the morning is breaking! Look! there is the dawn already?"