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town, and on that list there was written the name of my Fedio! The terror of that day makes me tremble even now. Tulka herself

the same Tulka who had wanted to beat me-could not bear to see my face. She begged of the master to let me go home to my mother.

It was three days before I learned Fedio's fate. Those three days I spent standing at the gate, where I had so often waited for Fedio when we were children. All day long I stood there, staring at the road. My father and mother wanted me to come into the hut. First they begged, and then they scolded: they said that the people would make me their laughingstock. But to me it seemed that there were no people in the world.

While I spoke the ekonom came in, holding a riding-whip-for he had just left his horse outside. Behind him stood Fedio. The angry klucznica began to accuse me; and the ekonom, as he heard, came towards me with the whip raised in his hand. It would have fallen on me had not Fedio sprung between, and covered me with his body. The ekonom shouted, "What is They brought me some milk in a this insolence?"

"It is not insolence," answered Fedio, quite quietly; "but I will not let her be beaten. If she has done wrong, beat me. It will not harm me; but as long as I am alive, no one shall touch her!"

The ekonom lowered his whip. "Then it is true, Fedio, what the people say, that you are serving in the house only for her sake?"

"It is true, master; and if you want to hurt her, you must kill me first."

The ekonom began to laugh. "Well, to be sure, what a mighty love! But," he added, as he looked at me, "and yet it is worth his while."

And that is how the matter ended; and from that day Fedio and I were left in peace. It was a happy time, and almost did I forget the words which Ivan had said; but soon, very soon, was I to be reminded of them.

In spring the recruits were called in. There came a long register of those who had to present themselves at Brzezany, the nearest

jug; I could not swallow it. On the morning of the fourth day the carts came back. They passed me, one after the other; Fedio was not in any of them.

I called his name aloud.

"They have kept him," some one answered. "They have dressed him in the green cloth already, and they have cut his hair."

Something within me seemed to break. I turned, and took two steps towards the hut; but all the time I saw nothing but that hair,

that beautiful hair that I had kissed so often, and now falling beneath the scissors. I would have caught those black curls as they floated downwards; I would have snatched away those cold scissors, that flashed so cruelly before my eyes. I stretched out my hand, but he who held the scissors turned and struck me a blow on the forehead.

The air grew dark before my eyes; I fell to the ground. It was the first time that I had been insensible, and the doctor said to my mother, "A great illness may come

of it." But I was young and strong, and the great illness did not yet come for a little time.

The recruits used to be called in the month of March. The day that I fell down on the road was the Monday before Easter. Outside in the village it was beginning to grow warm again. The roads got dry; the people came out of their huts, and were busy raking, digging, and planting in the gardens. I shut myself into the hut, that I might not see how the sun was shining,—that I should not hear how the birds were singing. The great week passed. On the Holy Friday my mother baked the loaves, boiled the eggs, made the sausages, laid the cheeses and butter in saffron,-all that is done at Easter in a peasant house. But I not only did not help her, but even I could not look at her working. On Saturday, at mid-day, she laid all the things together, and covered them with a white linen cloth, ready to be carried on Sunday to church for the blessing.

On that evening, as I sat on the bench spinning at the wool, the door of the hut opened, and Fedio, dressed in the uniform of the lancers, stood upon the threshold. The sudden joy made me feel giddy. I had to cling to him for support; and when the giddiness had gone off, I still clung to him. And we sat thus, side by side, on the bench, with my spindle cast upon the ground.

Gracious lady, you will scarcely believe me, and yet it is true that during all that night we never moved from the bench, and scarcely spoke a word, but only held each other by the hand. Once or twice in the dark Fedio whispered, "You will be mine." But that was all.

At that time the men had to serve as soldiers for eight years;

and eight years, when they are already past, are like a minute, but when they are still to come, they are like an eternity.

As soon as the light came in by the window, my father awoke and got up; and when he saw us two still sitting on the bench, he said—

"Oh, my poor children!"

But immediately after he seemed to remember something.

"Fedio, tell me, have you leave to be here?"

"No, I have no leave; no one knows that I left Mikolaja. But I had to come; I could not do otherwise. If I had stayed I should have gone mad or died, for on Sunday at eleven we are to march away."

My father clasped his hands above his head

"Fedio! unhappy man! But this is Sunday already!"

He did not speak more, but dressed and left the hut. In a few minutes he came back and said to Fedio

"The cart is ready. I shall drive you. At eleven we must be at Mikolaja, or else your punishment will be hard. I have been a soldier, and I know it. They will beat you with rods!"

I swear to you, gracious lady, that already, as he spoke, I felt those rods on my shoulders and upon my heart.

"Fedio, Fedio!" I screamed, "go away quickly; run, fly! Why are you here? For what good did you come?" And I was so strong at that moment, that if he had resisted, I could have taken him in my arms like a child and thrown him into the cart.

When we reached the gate Fedio stopped and stretched his arms towards the second hut.

"My mother, my sisters! I had forgotten them. I have not seen

them!"

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“Hush, children!" said my father roughly, but he wiped his eyes with his sleeve. "Hush! there is no time to waste." And the cart disappeared on the road.

I am not learned in books, gracious lady, and therefore I cannot explain to you what it was that happened to me when I saw the cart no more. I felt as though my heart were fastened by a cord to those wheels which were taking my Fedio away from me for ever. In my head there was a humming noise; but I said to myself, "I cannot go mad till my father comes back, and tells me whether Fedio reached in time."

The people were going to church, carrying the loaves to be blessed. I heard my mother's voice calling me. She wanted me to go with her; but I could not. Why? Because something had made me forget how to pray. I could not find the beginning of the prayer. And then I grew frightened, for it seemed to me that even the good God was leaving me alone in my trouble. Why, then, should I go to church?

While every one was praying to God, I lay on my face in the garden, and pressed my brow against the cold, damp earth; for the fire that was burning in my head had dried up all the tears.

That evening my father was not back, and he was not back next morning; he was not back at midday. The fire in my head passed into my eyes. I could remember nothing. I had forgotten how Fedio had come, how he had gone, that he might be too late. I only

VOL. CXXXIV.-NO. DCCCXV.

remembered that I must sit here and wait for my father.

In the evening I still sat by the gate, and with my hands I held my head, for it was as big as a barrel. I saw my father coming, but he was not in the cart; he was on foot, weary and dusty, and with only the whip in his hand. When I saw him I remembered again all at once what had passed that Fedio had been and had gone, that he might have come too late, that the fire in my head must not burn me until I knew that he would not be punished.

I remember getting up from the doorstep and staggering towards my father; but I forget whether I asked, or whether he spoke first:

"We came in time. No one knows that he was here. They have marched to Olomunca."

The fire in my head broke out of it and rose in the air. Like a pillar I fell down at my father's feet. For the second time I was insensible.

When I awoke again, the cherries were red in our garden, and the people were working at the potatoes-for this time the great illness had come. Eight Sundays had passed since the day of my father's return. My mother told me that the doctor had said I would die; but the great God is a better doctor, and He said I was to live. She also told me that when my father had taken Fedio to Mikolaja, one horse had dropped dead with fatigue. The other was lame; so he had sold it, with the cart, to the Jews, and came home with the whip alone in his hand.

When I awoke after those eight weeks, I asked myself what now I was to do with my life, what now I was to do with myself? The people were changed; the village so empty and silent; the fields,

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the woods, were so dreary; the garden so sad; and the cherries did not taste sweet like other years. The hut was dark, and the sun, even though it was June, shone now so weak and cold. My mother cried; my father grew sick and fretful. Poverty came into our hut. My illness had cost much money, and the horses were gone. My parents had never been rich, and when so much evil came upon them, they were forced to go to the Jews. With the horses they had gained money; now there were no horses, and no more money to be gained. At the harvest they could not have gone to the fields if Ivan had not lent his cart. But this helped us but little, and the farm began to sink.

My father clenched his teeth and never spoke. I was useless; my mother herself could think of no help.

At last the kumy (godparents) began to give advice. I was in the kitchen, and I heard how they said,

"You must marry your daughter."

And my mother answered,—

"There is no other help for it; Marysia must be forced to take Ivan."

My knees shook under me; for I knew that though my parents loved me, yet hunger is stronger than love and pity.

I went into the yard; from the yard I went on to the road, from the road to the fields, and then from the fields I went higher and higher until I came to the wood. I sat down on the ground, and said to myself that whatever might happen I would not go back to the hut.

It was already quite late in the night when I heard the voice of Ivan calling me, and also the voice of my father.

I held my breath and did not move; and later on I heard their

voices again, far off in the wood. We were in autumn already, and the nights were long and cold, and I had come out just as I was, in my linen shirt and petticoat. I was so cold that I could scarcely move. I meant to sit there as long as it was dark, and then to walk on higher and higher, until I came to where lived good people who would tell me the road to Olomunca.

Towards morning I fell asleep. In my dream it seemed to me that some one was pulling me by the hands; and when I opened my eyes, I saw my father and Ivan bending over me. My father was in great anger.

"You good-for-nothing!" he shouted; "is it not enough that you have made me a beggar, but must you still drag me from my bed to search the wood for you at night, sick and weak as I am?"

His voice was raised to a shout, but I answered nothing. He spoke again,—

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Why did you leave the hut? Who has done you harm?"

I knelt down at my father's feet and told him how I had heard what the kumy had said, and what my mother had answered. I prayed to him,

"Father, I cannot go to this one, for I love the other."

"You love the other? And what means this love? Is it witchery? It is time you should forget!"

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"I shall never forget.' And I raised my hands.

My father's anger became terrible. He began to curse Fedio, and the hour when first he had called him son. The words which he said were so fearful that they raised the hair on my head, and it seemed to me that all those things were to happen to Fedio which my father said as he cursed him.

"Father!" I cried, and with my

arms I clasped his knees, "I will do all you command-I will marry whom you will; but, for the love of God, do not curse my Fedio!"

"You shall marry because you must. This day Ivan shall yet speak to the priest."

Ivan bent over me,

"Get up, my Marysia! Come back to the hut; the night has been so cold, and you will be ill again." Just see, gracious lady, how strong we poor women are. I did not die that day; I was able to get up and walk home, even though I knew that I was to be married to another man than the one I loved.

Two Sundays later my wedding with Ivan was held. I looked on it as though it were the wedding of a stranger. You know, gracious lady, that it is the custom with us for the bridegroom to ransom the bride with money from the young girls of the village. For this he must throw the money on the table, behind which she sits with the girls around her; and then he leaps over, and when he has dispersed them, he kisses her; and as the girls draw back, the married women advance and claim her as their sister.

It came to this ceremony; Ivan flung down the money, and stood by my side. The girls stepped back; his arm was round my waist. At that moment, as I turned my head aside, I saw standing right in the middle of the hut the figure of Fedio; almost it seemed to me that he was weeping. I tore myself away from Ivan, knocked over the bench, and sprang to the middle of the room, but the figure was gone; and without a word, I threw myself into the second room, and fastened the door behind me.

My father became furious, and ordered me to open, threatening to have the door knocked to pieces; and perhaps he would have done

it, had not Ivan stopped him. I heard how he said,—

"She is already my wife, and I do not choose to take her by force." The wedding-feast could not be finished; the guests all dispersed.

I remained thus locked up till the middle of next day. I could hear how my father was cursing, how my mother was crying, how the godparents were saying that the priest should be sent for; but Ivan answered,

"The priest has already done what he has to do. She is my wife now; leave her alone. Would you have me lead her to my hut by force? Some day she will come to me herself. Why should you judge between her and me? Of what do you complain? I shall work your ground as though it were my ground. I shall look after the farm as long as her brother is a child;-only do not trouble her.'

And my parents at last gave me

peace.

That afternoon my father went off with a load of wood, my mother went out to the fields to dig up potatoes, and Ivan alone remained in the hut.

All this I saw, for from the window of the little room I could see each person who passed out. After a time Ivan came to my door.

"Marysia, what are you doing all alone? Would you be ill again? This is the second day that you have eaten nothing. Why are you afraid of me? I want only that you should drink some milk and eat some white bread which I have brought you from the town."

Not for his prayers, but because of my hunger, I opened the door; for thus the great God has arranged the world, that however unhappy we be, we yet must eat.

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