"See what I received to-day," said Ladislaus, handing Gronski a letter which came with others in the morning mail.
Gronski glanced at it and knit his brow.
"Ah!" he said, "a death sentence."
"Yes."
"With the seal of the P. P. S. They are distributing them quite prodigally."
"Yes, just like the opposite party."
"Both are alike. The notary also has one and the doctor several. What do you think of it?"
"Je m'en fiche! But the situation amuses me. I do not know whether you have heard that the Provincial guards have unearthed a secret school in Jastrzeb, which I founded a year ago because my conscience commanded me to. It is a case which I greased but have not yet greased sufficiently. As a result, I now have suspended over me the fists of the authorities and the fists of the socialists. Enjoyable, is it not?"
"It has often occurred to me that elsewhere people could not live under such conditions, and we not only live but laugh quite merrily."
"For such is our sinewy Lechite nature."
"Perhaps that is so. You must, nevertheless, be on your guard and it will be necessary to send the ladies away."
"It will be necessary, it will be necessary," repeated Ladislaus. "And abroad too, for it is unsafe in Warsaw. But please do not say anything about this foolish sentence to Mother or any one else."
"Certainly."
"Mother positively insists upon my accompanying her, and I do not try to shun that--oh, no, not in the least! But summer is approaching and after that there will be the harvest. The overseer is an honest man but before my departure I must give him some specific instructions how and what he is to do. After they all leave, I would like to stay yet for a week or ten days. Mother will not be alone and without care, as in the first place the younger members of the family will be with her, and again you heard Cousin Marynia say that the ladies will go wherever Mother would be. Through all my life I will ever be grateful to Miss Anney for that proposal; for to Mother nothing could be better or more agreeable."
"And for her son also, it seems to me," said Gronski, laughing.
Ladislaus remained silent for a time; after which he began to press the palms of his hands on his temples and replied:
"Yes. For why should I deny that which I confessed to myself and which everybody sees but Mother, who has not observed it because she seldom saw us together. But she also has fallen in love with Miss Anney. Who would not love her? Such a dear, golden creature. I have not, as yet, said anything to Mother because she has her mind set upon Pani Otocka and it will be unpleasant for her to give up the thought. I fear she might be offended. After all, I only know what is taking place within me, and nothing more. I dare not even say that I have any reasons for my illusion. I fear that it may all at once burst like a soap-bubble. Ah! How unhappy I would be. Already I cannot see anything in this world beyond her. Candidly speaking, I do not know what to do with myself, Jastrzeb, and life."
And grasping Gronski's hand, he continued:
"If you would only speak with Pani Otocka and ascertain from her whether I may have hope; for they are friends and certainly do not keep any secrets from each other. If you would only do this for me; and in due time speak with Mother! But with Pani Otocka as soon as possible! Will you do it?"
"I have spoken with Pani Otocka about that," replied Gronski, "but what, do you suppose, she answered? That she could not tell me anything as Miss Anney confided to her a certain personal secret which she was not at liberty to divulge. I admit that this surprised me. In reality, the secret cannot be anything derogatory to Miss Anney, as otherwise Pani Otocka would not be on such cordial and intimate terms with her. They are like sisters, and in Warsaw they lived together, almost door to door. After all, Pani Otocka, it seemed to me, was sincerely in your favor and, at times, I received the impression that she was concerned in having matters come to the pass which they have. As for Marynia, she wriggles her little ears and with that it ends. In any case, be assured that you have not enemies in those ladies and, if you want to know my personal views, much less in Miss Anney."
"Would to God! Would to God!" answered Ladislaus. "You have given me a little encouragement and I breathe more easily."
"But you, I see, have fallen unto your ears," observed Gronski.
"I give you my word that I prefer one of her fingers or the ray of her hair to all the women in the world. I never had a conception that one could thus surrender himself. At times I do not know what is happening to me or what will occur, for only think: I have Jastrzeb, the estate, the Rzeslewo affairs, Mother's departure, and here I cannot think of anything but her--but her--and to nothing else can I apply my mind. I regret every moment in which I do not gaze upon her. To-day, for instance, I received a summons from the Directory to come in reference to the will and Rzeslewo, and I postpone the matter until tomorrow. I cannot--plainly--I cannot! I would go at night were it not that the Directory is closed for the night."
"Remember, however, the death sentence."
"May the devil take them with their sentence, or let them finally shoot me in the head. I would still be thinking of her, especially after what you have told me. But how do you know that Pani Otocka is in my favor? Those are honest, golden hearts, both of those cousins! How did you say it? That they are not my enemies? Thank God, even for that! For, why should they hate me? But please speak with Pani Otocka again. I am not concerned about her betraying any secret but only that, knowing Miss Anney, she should say something one way or the other--you know what I want--certainty--even though a morsel--"
"Certainly," said Gronski, laughing, "I will seek an opportunity to-day."
"Thank you! Thank you!"
In fact an opportunity was easily found, as Pani Otocka also had some news which she desired to impart to Gronski, and with this object she sent her maid to him with an invitation to meet her on the yoked elm walk, near the pond. When they met there she gave him, just as Ladislaus had done a while before, a letter which arrived in the same morning's mail and said:
"Please read it and advise me what to do with it."
It was a letter from Laskowicz to Marynia and its tenor was as follows:
"A great idea is like a gigantic bird: her wings cast a shadow over the earth, while she hovers in the sun.
"Whoever does not fly upwards with her is surrounded by darkness.
"And darkness is death.
"In that darkness, I behold Thee, like an alabaster statuette. This night the sounds of thy music reach me.
"And lo, in my lonely chamber I think of Thee and grieve for Thee.
"For Thou couldst be a beam-feather in the wings of this gigantic bird idea and inhale the pure air of the dizzy heights and play in glory to the legions of the living; and Thou breathest the air of tombs and playest to a life which is moribund and to souls that wither; and not to people but to ghosts.
"I grieve for Thee, my silvery one.
"And my thoughts fly to Thee like eagles.
"For heretofore there was imbedded in my strength a part of human happiness but there was not in it my own happiness.
"Now Thou suddenly glidest before my eyes like a light, and through my ears like music, and hast filled my bosom with a yearning for things I had not known before, and hast filled me with Thine own indispensable quintessence and a consciousness of my happiness.
"Therefore I loved Thee the same night when I beheld Thee and heard Thee for the first time.
"Henceforth, though Thou are not near me, I am with Thee and will follow wherever Thou wilt be.
"For Thou art necessary to my existence and I am to Thee, in order to resuscitate Thee.
"In order to snatch Thee from destruction; from amidst those who are about to die.
"In order to surrender Thee to the great idea, and the exalted, and the light, and the living hosts who suffer from a dearth of bread and music.
"Thee and Thy music.
"May extermination not fail upon you both.
"Oh, beloved one.
"A certain night I summoned Thee but Thou didst not hear me and didst not come. Now I extend my hands towards Thee and say unto Thee: Come and slumber in my heart.
"And when the time of awakening comes, I will wake Thee for a brief moment of pleasure, which love gives for the toil without an end and which the idea demands.
"For toil and perchance for martyrdom.
"But in that martyrdom for the dawn of a new life, there is greater happiness than in the dusk, mephitic air, ashes and mould of graves.
"Therefore come even for martyrdom.
"And until our existence floats into the sea of nothingness, abide with me.
"Oh, beloved one."
Gronski's countenance reflected perturbation. For a time he and Pani Otocka walked in silence.
"What shall I do with this, and what does it mean?"
"This is a disagreeable and vexatious matter, and the letter means that Laskowicz, who never in his life saw a being like Marynia, has fallen in love with her from the first acquaintance, as he himself says. I observed that after a few days and if I did not say anything to you about it, it was because Laskowicz was soon to leave. But he has fallen in love with his head and not his heart, for otherwise, instead of high-flown expressions, borrowed, as it were, from some school of literature, he would have found simpler and more sincere words. His exaltation may be sincere, it may waste and destroy him like a fever; it may last for whole years, but its chief source is the head and not the heart."
But Pani Otocka, who at the moment was not in the least interested in an analysis of Laskowicz's feelings, interrupted a further disquisition:
"But what are we to do, in view of this? How are we to act? It is about Marynia that I am concerned."
"You are right," answered Gronski. "Pardon my untimely reflections, but it is always better to know with whom and with what one has to do. My opinion is that it would be best not to do anything, just as if this letter had not arrived. You may return it to Laskowicz, but that would be exceedingly contemptuous: this letter deserves, perhaps, to be thrown into a fireplace, but in my opinion it does not merit contempt. It is, if you will permit me to thus express myself, nervous and insolent, but it preserves a certain measure in its expressions and there is nothing brutal in it. Besides it expresses rather the thoughts which came to Laskowicz's mind than any actual hopes, and to that extent it might be explained to Marynia that this is not a letter to her but a poem for her, not quite felicitously conceived. And Marynia? What impression did it make upon her and what does she say?"
"Marynia," answered Pani Otocka with a certain comic uneasiness, "is a little offended, a little worried and frightened, but in the innermost recesses of her heart, she is a little proud that somebody should have written such a letter to her."
"Oh, I was certain of that," exclaimed Gronski, laughing involuntarily.
After a while he began to speak seriously.
"No doubt other letters will come and as these maybe more glaring, we will have to persuade the little one that she should not read them. If you will permit, I will undertake that, after which, you ladies ought to go to Warsaw, and, in a short time, journey abroad and the matter will end of itself."
"To tell the truth," responded Pani Otocka, "I want to leave Jastrzeb as soon as possible. We are not necessary for Aunt but are rather a hindrance in the preparations for her departure, and I confess that I am possessed by fear. Please read that letter again carefully. Why, there are threats there against all the residents of Jastrzeb and even against Marynia if she stays with us."
Gronski thought of Ladislaus receiving at the same time a death sentence, and in the first moments it occurred to him that it might have some connection with Laskowicz's letter. But after a while he recollected that similar sentences were sent to the doctor and even the aged notary: therefore to pacify Pani Otocka, he said:
"These are times of continual menaces and everybody receives them, but I do not think that Laskowicz intended to warn Marynia of any imminent attack threatening us in Jastrzeb. He undoubtedly wished to say that the waves of socialism will sweep away all who do not float with it, and therefore us. But as the peace of yourself and Marynia is involved, as to leaving, why of course! Why should we not leave even to-morrow?"
"I already thought of that, but Aunt urged us to wait for her and Aninka promised her that."
"Then let her remain, and you ladies leave. Ah, so Miss Anney delays the departure? Good news for Laudie! May I tell him that? A while ago, he begged me to learn something from you,--for the poor fellow barely lives. He is the most love-sick swain within the boundaries of the Commonwealth."
"So it has gone as far as that?"
"It has! Evidently there is something inflammatory in the atmosphere of Jastrzeb. Here everybody falls in love, either openly or in secret."
Hearing this, Pani Otocka unexpectedly blushed like a fifteen-year-old girl, and though this happened often and upon the most trivial provocation, Gronski being unable to surmise what had passed through her mind, looked at her with a certain wonder.
"How then?" he said. "There are Laudie, Laskowicz, and Dolhanski. But Dolhanski has the most energy, for, after his latest repulse, he immediately decamps upon a new expedition, while Laudie fears."
"What?" asked Pani Otocka, raising her eyes.
"First, a repulse from which he thinks he could not recover, and, again, a discussion with his mother which awaits him."
"Perhaps something else awaits Cousin Laudie, but he need not fear about Aninka."
"He will die from joy when I tell him that, but in my way, I, who am known to you as a meddler, could die from curiosity."
"What of it, when I have no right to speak about it?"
"Not even when we leave Jastrzeb?"
"Not even then. After all, everything will soon clear up."
"In such case, I have procured enough for the nonce, and in the meanwhile I will return to Laudie to tell him the good news and apprise him of our departure. I will not mention anything about Laskowicz's letter, for tomorrow he will set off for the city and, if they met, a nasty encounter might result."
Ladislaus, however, did not go to the city on the day following his conversation with Gronski, for he was notified that the meeting of the executors of Zarnowski's will was postponed for one week. The reason for this was that in two days a convention of the citizens of the vicinity was to commence in reference to providing insurance for the superannuated rural officials and manor-servants, and also in regard to the more burning question of introducing the Polish language into the communes,--a question in which the communal justices as well as the villagers were interested. Ladislaus determined, by all means, to participate in these debates, but as they were to take place in the forenoons, he formulated a plan of going to them every morning and returning home in the afternoon. In view of the proximity of Jastrzeb to the city, this plan was quite feasible.
However, he was disappointed in the hope that he could devote those two days exclusively to the guests, or rather to the most precious of guests in Jastrzeb, as the disorders in Rzeslewo broke out with renewed virulence and they required almost all his time. The strike of the manor help, indeed, ceased so completely that the intervention, which Dolhanski advised, became superfluous and it was necessary to restrain it. But in the meantime individual tenants and some of the husbandmen began to commit depredations in the forest. Ladislaus, at the head of the local and Jastrzeb foresters, sought these disorderly persons, who, indeed, hid at the sight of him: nevertheless they assumed a very threatening attitude towards the servants, promising to all swift vengeance. The foresters received bulky letters, assuring them "that they would get a bullet in the head, and the heir also would." But the heir, who was not wanting in youthful energy and was not averse to adventure, did not at all neglect the defence of the Rzeslewo forests, and, what was more, he personally rushed over to Rzeslewo and summoning the malefactors, declared that he would invoke courts and punishment.
And afterwards, he repaired at the designated time to the conference. It was to be the last day of the sojourn in Jastrzeb of Pani Otocka, Marynia, and Gronski, who decided to leave on the following day for Warsaw. Miss Anney, at Pani Krzycki's solicitation, agreed to remain for a few days, and leave with her. Ladislaus announced that he would return as soon as possible in order to spend the evening with all of them and to listen for the last time to Marynia's bewitching violin. He also said that he would induce the notary and the doctor to come with him.
As a result, they waited dinner for them. In the meantime, about four o'clock, Gronski sat in his room writing a letter to Dolhanski, Marynia, upstairs, played her daily exercises, Pani Otocka sat with the patient, and Miss Anney went out on the balcony, ostensibly to photograph the old and lofty trees which enclosed the courtyard on two sides, but in reality to see whether he, whom they expected at home, was returning. So instead of photographing, she began to lose her sight and soul in the shady depths of the old linden roadway. Hope that soon she would behold in that depth a cloud of dust, horses, and carriages, and that afterwards the lively form of a youth would leap out, filled her with a quiet joy. Lo, after a while she would see before her that countenance, stately, sympathetic, and sincere; those eyes, whose every glance spoke to her a hundred times more than the lips, and would hear that voice which penetrated to her heart and thrilled it like music. At this thought, Miss Anney was encompassed with such sweet, calm feeling, as if she were a child and as if some loved hand were lightly rocking her to sleep; as if she were resting in a boat, which the gentle waves bore somewhere into a distance, unknown, but radiant. To permit herself to be rocked, to allow herself to be borne, to confide in the waves, to not think, for the time being, of where the boat will stop,--this was all that the heart of the maiden, at such moments, desired. But at other moments, when she propounded to herself the question, "What will happen further?" she looked with faith into the future. Sometimes when sleep refused to close her eyes, there flitted through her mind, like dark butterflies, uncertainties and fears, but even then she said to herself that the heaven may become cloudy in the future, but at present she was enjoying charming, fair weather, and every day was like a flower, and she plucked those flowers, one after another and laid them upon her bosom. So she thought that for this it was worth while to live and even to die.
And at that moment, though her soul was dissolving in the sun, in the serene atmosphere, in the rustle of leaves and in the great pastoral calm, flooded with light, she had no desire to die, for it seemed to her that, with the air, she inhaled joyful appeasement. Everything about her began to lose the mark of reality and change into an azure vision of happiness, half dreamy, half wakeful. From this revery she was aroused by the sight, awaiting which she had sat for almost an hour on the balcony. Lo, at the uttermost end of the roadway her eagerly desired cloud of dust appeared and it approached with unusual rapidity. Miss Anney recollected herself. In the first moments she wanted to retire. "It is necessary, it is necessary," she said to herself, "otherwise he will be apt to think that I was waiting for him." And she would have been sincerely indignant had any one suggested to her that such was the case. But suddenly her knees became so weak that she sat again, clutching the camera in order that it might appear that when found on the balcony she was taking photographs. In the meantime the cloud drew nearer the gates of entry, continuing with the same speed. Soon in harmony with the picture which the maiden had previously formed, the gray heads of the fore horses emerged from the dust. Like lightning, an impression of joy shook Miss Anney. "How he is flying and how anxious he is!" But immediately afterwards, as she began to wonder at the amazing speed, she thought that the horses were frightened. They were already so close to the gates that she could perceive the wind-tossed manes, the distended bloody nostrils and the frantic motions of the horses' feet. Suddenly she rose and her eyes reflected horror, for she observed that the coachman sat, bent so that only the top of his head could be seen--without a cap. In the meantime the intractable horses dashed through the gate; at the winding, the coachman fell off and the carriage with slightly diminished speed swung in a semi-circle along the border of the flower-bed. In the carriage, on the rear seat, Ladislaus sat alone, with his head tilted upwards and propped upon a carriage cushion. A cry of terror escaped from Miss Anney's breast. The horses, in the twinkle of an eye, reached the balcony and being accustomed to stop before it, implanted their hoofs in the ground. Ladislaus moved and, pale as a corpse, with blood streaming over his collar and coat sleeves, staggered from the carriage; when the maiden hurried towards him, he cried, grasping the air with his mouth:
"Nothing!... I am wounded, but it is nothing!"
And he toppled to the ground at her feet.
And she, in a moment raised him with a strength, amazing in a woman, and supporting him with her arms and breast, began to shriek:
"Save him! Help! Help!"
When Miss Anney raised the wounded young man, the household servants were in the other part of the house. Nearest to her--for they were in the vestibule playing billiards--were Pani Zosia and Marynia. These ladies rushed upon the balcony and, seeing Miss Anney supporting the disabled youth, emulating her example, began to shout at the top of their voices. She, in the meantime, placed him upon a bench on the balcony and enclosing him in her arms, called for water. Both sisters hurried to the sideboard for it and alarmed the whole house. Gronski and everything living collected there. In the first moments Gronski lost his head and when he recovered his senses he sent Pani Otocka to Ladislaus' mother to apprise her of the occurrence. In the meanwhile Miss Anney ordered the servants to carry the wounded man. She, herself, was compelled for a while to attend to her maid, who at the sight of Ladislaus, began to scream and then fell into hysterical convulsions. Gronski hastened to the stable to dispatch horses for the doctor.
But before the wounded man was borne to his room his mother came precipitately. At the news of the misfortune, she forgot about her rheumatism and assisted in the removal of her son, and in undressing and laying him in bed. Afterwards she began to wash out the wounds with a sponge. Ladislaus, owing to a copious flow of blood, fell into a long faint, and, after regaining consciousness for a brief interval, fainted again: in consequence of which he could not give any information about the occurrence. He only repeated several times, "In the woods, in the woods!" From which they could infer that the attack took place, not upon the public highway but on the borders of Rzeslewo or Jastrzeb.
In the meantime, the rattle of a britzka resounded before the balcony and, a moment later, Gronski summoned Miss Anney from her room, where she was hastily changing her clothes, which were covered with blood.
"I am riding alone," he said. "The coachman is on the sick list and the housekeeper has taken charge of him. None of the grooms want to go. All are scared and positively refuse. Only the old lackey is willing to drive, but I think that he cannot drive any better than I can."
"It is imperatively necessary to drive for the doctor at once," answered Miss Anney, pressing the palms of her hands to her burning cheeks, "but it is also necessary to prepare for the defence of the house. Please hurry to the farmers' quarters and send for the forest rangers to come with their arms. Otherwise those men will be apt to break in here and administer the finishing blow to him."
"That is true."
And she continued hurriedly:
"It is necessary to send some one for the men in the sawmill and arm them with firearms. The field hands will follow their example. In all probability an assault will be made upon the manor-house and here are only women. You must assume charge of the defence. Please go at once, and do send for the forest rangers."
Gronski admitted the propriety of the advice, and proceeded immediately to the farmers' buildings. It was within the range of possibility that the assailants, not knowing the result of their shooting, might wish to ascertain and perhaps finish their work. This had happened in several instances, and in view of this, all, and, more particularly, the women, were concerned. Gronski was not an energetic man, but no coward, and the thought of the being most precious to him in the world, Marynia, infused him with energy. He immediately sent the field hands for the forest rangers, as well as to the sawmill, where a dozen or more men worked, of whom it was known in the manor, as well as in the village, that they read "The Pole" and did not fear any one. The manor domestics very quickly recovered from their consternation. The reason for this was that the wounded coachman, though he did not see the assailants who had fired from thickets, claimed with great positiveness that "the Rzeslewo people attacked the young heir" on account of disputes about the forest. This removed from the affair the awe of mystery; and a peasant does not fear danger but mystery. Besides, as there existed between the men of Jastrzeb and the men of Rzeslewo an ancient grudge, dating from the time of the wrangle about bounding the stream, as soon as the news of the attempt of the Rzeslewo men spread over the village, those of Jastrzeb ceased not only to fear, but a desire for revenge was bred in them. The manor servants began to feel ashamed now that they had refused to drive for the doctor. Others, hearing that Rzeslewo wished to make an onslaught on Jastrzeb manor, seized pitchforks and pulled out pickets from the fences. Gronski, aware of the death sentence received by Ladislaus, viewed the matter differently, but kept his opinion to himself, understanding that a peasant, though he often suddenly displays unusual terror, when once he starts to pull out pickets from fences, does not fear anybody whatsoever.
Therefore delighted with this turn of affairs, he took with him a stout groom, who undertook to convey him to the city. But here a surprise awaited him, for before the balcony there was not a trace of the britzka and on the balcony stood the old lackey Andrew, with dejected face, and Marynia, pale, terror-stricken, with tears in her eyes, and who seeing him began to cry:
"How could you, sir, permit her to ride alone? How could you do it?"
"Miss Anney drove alone to the city!" exclaimed Gronski.
And his countenance reflected such amazement that it was easy to perceive that it had happened without his knowledge or consent.
"My God!" he said, "she sent me to the farmhouses to arrange the defence, and it never occurred to me that in the meantime she would jump into the britzka and drive away. It never occurred to me for a moment."
But Marynia did not stop her lamentations.
"They will kill her in the woods; they will kill her," she repeated, wringing her hands.
Gronski, in order to quiet her, assured her that he would send out succor at once, but returning to the farmhouses, he began to reason that if he, himself, set out after her on horseback he would accomplish nothing and would leave the house without a masculine head, and if he should send the field laborers, before they reached the forest Miss Anney would outstrip them. It was possible for them to insure, fairly well, her safe return, but to insure her safe passage through the woods in the direction of the city it was absolutely too late.
This was likewise acknowledged by Dolhanski, who not knowing of anything, returned by chance a half an hour later from Gorek to Jastrzeb. Hearing of the occurrence and Miss Anney's expedition, he could not refrain from exclaiming:
"But that is a brave girl. I wish I was Krzycki."
After which, going with Gronski to see the injured man, he added:
"We will have to go out to meet her. I will attend to that."
Ladislaus was already completely conscious and wanted to rise. He did not do so on account of his mother's entreaties and adjurations. His two friends did not tell him who had gone after the doctor. They only informed him that the doctor would arrive without delay and, after a short while, left, having something else to attend to. Dolhanski now assumed command over the improvised garrison which was to defend the manor-house. Gronski did not expect to find in him such an extraordinary supply of energy, sangfroid and self-confidence. He soon imparted this feeling to the household servants and the foresters; and the organization of the defence was not difficult. Two Jastrzeb forest rangers and one from Rzeslewo, who came later, had their own firearms, and in the manor-house were found Ladislaus' six fowling-pieces and, of these, two were short rifles. Dolhanski distributed this entire arsenal among men who knew how to use the weapons. A few servants from the village, who had participated in the Japanese war, appeared. Under these circumstances there was no fear of a sudden and unexpected attack. The workingmen from the sawmill, being of the Nationalistic persuasion, were anxious "that something should happen," so that they could "show how the teeth of uninvited guests are cleaned."
Having arranged everything in this manner, Dolhanski intrusted the defence of the manor-house and the women to Gronski. Before that, however, he calmed them as to Miss Anney with the assurance that he returned from Gorek through the selfsame forest and rode in safety. This was the actual fact. But what was stranger, he did not meet the Englishwoman, from which they inferred that the courageous but prudent young lady evidently drove on another side road. However, as the distance to the city was not great and her return might be expected soon, he proceeded to meet her, taking along with him two forest rangers armed from head to foot. Gronski again was compelled to admire the shrewdness and ingenuity with which he issued in the name of the "Central Government" a command to the peasants of the village, that they should, in case they heard shots in the forest, rush in a body to their aid. The peasants did not know what this "Central Government" was. Neither did Dolhanski. He only knew that the name alone would create an impression, and the supposition that it was some Polish authority would ensure it a willing obedience.
But these were superfluous precautions, as it appeared that there was no one in the Jastrzeb and Rzeslewo forests which extended along the other side of the road. The miscreants who fired at Krzycki had decamped with due haste, evidently from fear of pursuit; or else they awaited the night, concealed in some distant underwood belonging to other villages. One of the forest rangers, who had previously fully questioned the coachman about the place of the ambush, found, while beating the adjacent thickets, empty revolver cartridge shells, in consequence of which the supposition arose that the attack was perpetrated by Rzeslewo peasants. Dolhanski did not doubt that what happened was a sequel of the death sentence, of which he learned from Gronski. But this seemed to him "much more interesting." He thought that to meet the assailants and settle the issue in a proper manner would be a sort of hazard not devoid of a certain charm. And, in fact, soon a few more empty shells were found, but further search was without any results.
Then Dolhanski turned towards the highway leading to the city, and a half an hour later met Miss Anney, driving the britzka as fast as the horses could run; on the rear seat was the doctor.
It was market-day in the city. It happened therefore that at that time a dozen or more carts from Jastrzeb and Rzeslewo were returning homeward, and there was considerable bustle on the road. In consequence of this, Miss Anney did not become frightened at the sight of three armed men approaching her from an opposite direction, and, after a while, recognizing Dolhanski, she began to slacken the speed of the horses.
"How is the wounded man?"
"Conscious. Good."
"How is it in the house?"
"Nothing new."
"God be praised."
The britzka again rolled on and after an interval was hidden in a cloud of dust, and Dolhanski, having naught else to do, returned also to Jastrzeb.
The forest rangers who were walking behind him began to converse with each other and interchange their ideas of a lady "who drives as well as the best coachman." But in Dolhanski's eyes there lingered also the picture of a young and charming maiden, with reins in hand, glowing countenance and wind-tossed hair. How much resolution and vivacity there was in all this! Never before did Miss Anney appear to him so enchanting. He knew from Gronski in what manner she had dashed to the city, and he was sincerely captivated by her. "That is not one of our transparent, jelly maidens who quiver at the slightest cause," he said to himself, "that is life, that is bravery, that is blood." He always admired everything which was English, beginning with the House of Lords and ending with the manufactured products of yellow leather, but at the present time his admiration waxed yet greater. "If her marriage portion is reckoned not in Polish gold pieces but in guineas," he soliloquized farther, "then Laudie was born with a caul." As he was an egotist, as well as a man of courage, he, after a while, ceased to bother his head about Krzycki and the danger which threatened all, and began to ruminate over his own situation in the world. He recollected that at one time he could have sold himself for a fat marriage settlement but with such an appendage that he preferred to renounce all. But if he had only found such an appendage as Miss Anney! And suddenly he was beset by regret that, after making her acquaintance, he had not been more attentive to her and had not tried to arouse in her an interest in himself. "Who knows," he thought, "whether at the proper time, that was not possible." But, in such case, it was proper for him to appear before her as more knightly and romantic and less sardonic and fond of club life. Evidently that was not her genre. Above all he could pot delude himself as to Pani Otocka. Dolhanski, from a certain time, had suspected his cousin of a secret attachment for Gronski, and at the same time could not understand what there was in Gronski that a woman could like. At the present time he was harassed by certain doubts about himself, for he felt, contrary to the good opinion which he entertained of himself, that there was something lacking in him; that in his internal mechanism some kind of wheel was wanting, without which, the entire mechanism did not go as it should. "For if," he cogitated farther, "I can sustain myself upon the surface, only through a rich marriage and my genre pleases neither Pani Otocka, nor Miss Anney, nor women in general, then I am a twofold ass: first because I thought I could please and again because I cannot afford to change." And he felt that he could not afford to change because of his indolence and from a fear that he would appear ridiculous.
"In view of this it will perhaps be necessary to end with Kajetana with her appurtenances."
In a sour temper he returned to Jastrzeb and, having given orders to the night watch, he went into the house where he received better news. The doctor announced that Ladislaus had a lacerated left shoulder, but as the shot was fired from below and went upwards, the bullet coursed above the lungs. The second shot grazed over the ribs, tearing a considerable portion of the flesh, while the third one carried off the tip of the small finger. The wounds were painful but not dangerous. The coachman received a scalp wound. The most severely injured was the left forehorse, who, however, owing to the small calibre of the bullet was able to gallop with the other horses, but died an hour after the return.
All of which, however, tended to prove that the attack was not the swift revenge of the landless of Rzeslewo in defence of the forest rights, but a premeditated attempt. For this reason Gronski was of the opinion that Pani Otocka and Marynia ought to leave the following day. He wanted to escort them himself to the railroad station and then return. But both declared that they would remain until all were able to leave. On this occasion Marynia, for the first time in her life, quarrelled with Gronski and the matter actually ended in this, that Gronski had to yield. After all, the departure was not delayed for a long time, for the doctor promised that if great caution was observed, they could transfer the injured man to Warsaw in the course of a week. No one suggested an immediate departure to Miss Anney.
The rest of the evening was passed in conference. About ten o'clock Dr. Szremski, having performed all that was required of him, wanted to leave for the city, but out of regard for Pani Krzycki he remained for the night, and as he was much fatigued, he went to Gronski's room and fell asleep at once. The ladies divided the work among themselves in this manner: the two sisters were to watch Pani Krzycki, who after the temporary excitement suffered severely from heart trouble and asthma. Miss Anney in conjunction with Gronski undertook to pass the night with the wounded young man.
Out in the world the first glow of dawn was just visible when Ladislaus awoke, after a fitful and slightly feverish sleep. He did not feel badly; only a thirst was consuming him; he began to seek with his eyes for some one near who could give him water, and espied Miss Anney sitting at the window. She must have watched a long time for she dozed, with her hands resting inertly upon her knees, and her head was bowed so low that Ladislaus at first caught only a glimpse of her light hair, illuminated by the light of the green lamp. She immediately started up however, as if she had a premonition that the patient was awake, and it seemed to him that she divined his thoughts, for, approaching noiselessly, she asked:
"Do you wish any water?"
Krzycki did not answer; he only smiled and winked his eyes in sign of assent; when she handed the drink to him, he eagerly drained the glass, and afterwards gently taking her hand in his own, which was uninjured, he pressed it to his lips and held it there a long time.
"My dearest ... my guardian angel," he whispered.
And again he pressed her hand to his lips.
Miss Anney did not even withdraw her hand; only with the other one she took the glass and placed it upon the small cupboard standing near the bed. She bent over him and said:
"It is necessary for you to keep quiet.--I will be with you until you get well, but now it is essential that you think only of your health; only of your health."
Her voice sounded in tones of quiet and gentle persuasiveness. Ladislaus dropped her hand. For some time he moved his lips, but not a word could be heard. Evidently, he was weakened from emotion, as he grew pale and beads of perspiration stood upon his forehead.
Miss Anney began to wipe his face with a handkerchief and continued:
"Please be calm. If I thought that I was harming you, I would not come here, and I do want to be with you now. Not a word about anything until the wounds are healed; not a word. Promise me that."
A moment of silence ensued.
"Let the lady retire for a rest," Krzycki said in a pleading voice.
"I will go, I will go, but I am not at all tired. During the first half of the night, Pan Gronski sat up at your side and I slept. Really, I am not tired and I will sleep during the day. But you, sir, try to sleep. All that is necessary is for you not to look at me, and close your eyes. Then sleep will come of itself. Good-night, or rather good-day, for the day is breaking in the world."
In fact the morning's dawn reddened and gilded the sky, and the sun was about to rise at any moment. The light of the green lamp grew paler each moment and was merging into the brightness of the day. Ladislaus, desiring to show how he obeyed every word of his beloved guardian, closed his eyes, pretending to sleep, but after a while footsteps were heard in the hallway and the doctor entered accompanied by Miss Anney's maid, whose turn it now was to attend to the patient. The doctor was so terribly drowsy that instead of eyes he had two slits surrounded by swollen eyelids, but he was as jovial and noisy as usual. He examined the bandages, admitted that the dressing was in proper shape, felt the pulse, and found everything in good order. Afterwards he opened the windows to freshen the air which was saturated with iodoform.
"A splendid morning," said he. "Health flows from the skies. Let the windows remain open all day. As soon as they hitch the horses, I shall return to the city for I have patients who cannot wait. But I will come back in the evening and bring a nurse for our wounded friend."
After which, addressing Miss Anney, he said:
"Only do not let it get into your head to drive for me, alone. The injured man is getting along nicely--a slight fever, very slight. I will see Pani Krzycki before I leave. Do not let her leave her bed all day, and let her nieces watch her. To you, sir, I recommend the bed. It is permissible to inhale but not to breathe one's last breath. Ha! I will return about five in the evening, unless indeed, I am forced on the road to swallow a few pills from the socialist pharmacy. That is a stylish medicine and, it must be confessed, acts quickly."
"How is Mother?" asked Ladislaus in alarm.
At this the doctor again turned to Miss Anney.
"Order him to lie quiet for he will not mind me. Your mother has more than fifteen years. Yesterday she started up suddenly, forgetting her rheumatism and weak heart action, laid you in bed, waited for my arrival; was present at the dressing, and after learning that there was no danger--at once! bah!--it was necessary to put her to bed. That is always the way with our women. But nothing is the matter with your mother; the usual reaction after a nervous strain. When she came to herself, I ordered her to remain in bed and not to appear here under the penalty of death--for you. With that, I restrained her. Otherwise she would have stuck here all night. Now your filigree cousins are watching her. They also almost turned topsyturvy; then I would have had four patients in one house. That would be a harvest--ha? Luckily there was to be found in this house one soul with different nerves, who did not swoon poetically. Ha!"
"How he is chattering," thought Ladislaus.
But the doctor began to gaze with great respect at Miss Anney and continued:
"Rule Britannia! It is a pleasure to look at you, as I love God! What health, what nerves! She sat up all night until the morning,--and nothing! As if she freshly shook the dew off herself! I repeat once more, it is a pleasure to behold you. I am going to the dining-room to see if they will not give me some coffee before I leave, for I am hungry."
But before he left he said to Miss Anney and her maid:
"Let the lady go with me and drink something warm before going to sleep, and you, little miss, sit here beside Pan Krzycki. It will be necessary to take his temperature and write it down. In case anything happens let Pan Gronski know. I will tell him to look in here occasionally. Good-by!"
Allowing Miss Anney, who smiled at the wounded man and repeated "Good-by," to pass before him, he followed her. In the dining-room, they found not only coffee, but the two sisters with Gronski and Dolhanski. The former had sat up all night with Pani Krzycki, whose illness was much more serious than the doctor told the son. At one time it was even so serious that it was doubtful whether she would revive from a long faint. Both "filigree" sisters were almost worn out, and Marynia had eyelids of actual lily color. Gronski, by all means, wanted the doctor to examine her and prescribe something strengthening.
But he, feeling her pulse for a while, said:
"I will prescribe for you, miss, as a medicine, a certain maxim of Confucius, which says, 'If thou wouldst know the truth, it is better to sit than stand, better to lie down than sit, and rather than lie down, it is better to sleep.'"
"That is all very well," she answered, "but after all that has taken place, I do not know whether I can sleep."
"Then let some one sing to you the lullaby, 'Ah, ah! Two little kittens'; but only not your sister, as for her I prescribe the same--until it is effective."
The rattle of the britzka interrupted further conversation. The doctor swallowed the hot coffee and took his leave. Dolhanski followed him and mounted a horse, held by a stable-boy. He announced that he would accompany the doctor through the forest.
"If that is for my safety, then it is absolutely unnecessary," said the doctor.
"I ride on horseback daily," replied Dolhanski, "and besides I want to see whether some May party has not again come to the Jastrzeb forest."
"No," answered the doctor, laughing. "I do not think that they will reappear so soon. They have in these matters a certain method. They prefer to be the hunters rather than the quarry, and understand that now it might come to a man hunt. In about a week or two, when they find out that their attempt was unsuccessful, it will be necessary to be more guarded."
"When will Krzycki be able to leave?"
"It all depends upon the purity of his blood; and I presume that it is pure. After all, it will not be necessary to wait in Jastrzeb for a complete cure. He had a pretty close call; that cannot be gainsaid. For if I had not come the same day, infection might have set in. But the antiseptic did its work. Ah, that Englishwoman who looks through a heavenly mist. There is a woman for me. What? Would you believe that at first I was upset with indignation at you gentlemen for permitting her to drive under those circumstances? Only later did she tell me the actual facts. If I do not fall in love with her, I am a marinated herring without milt."
"I would not advise it," said Dolhanski, "as it seems that in that territory there already has appeared a William the Conqueror."
"Do you think so? It may be possible! That also has occurred to my mind."
"Was it because the English prudery has disappeared in a corner?"
"No. Nursing a wounded man is a woman's duty and, in view of that, prudery must retire to a corner. Even yesterday's expedition demonstrated only courage and energy. But through that heavenly mist there reach our wounded friend such warm rays that--oh! But that does not prevent me from being in love. If old Dzwonkowski fell in love with your little cousin why should not I indulge in the same pleasure."
"In the same way you might fall in love with Saint Cecilia," said Dolhanski. "My cousin is not a woman on two feet, but a symbol."
And he stopped abruptly for he heard some voices coming from the depth of the forest and he sped his horse towards them.
"Nevertheless this clubman does not carry his soul on his shoulder," thought the doctor.
But it was only a false alarm, as it was merely village boys tending cattle. The doctor, who alighted from the britzka to rush to Dolhanski's assistance in case of need, soon saw them among the forest thickets. After a while Dolhanski reappeared and pressing on his eye the monocle which some twigs had displaced, said:
"That is only an innocent rural picture; cowherds and cows trespassing in other people's forests; nothing more."
After which he bade the doctor adieu and returned to the house.
Miss Anney had not yet retired to sleep, for he found her conversing with Gronski and engaged in winding iodoform gauze. At the sight of him, she raised her eyes from her work and asked:
"Anything new in the forest?"
"Yes, indeed; something has happened to the doctor. He has been shot."
At this, both suddenly rose, startled:
"What? Where? In the forest?"
"No! In Jastrzeb," answered Dolhanski.