"No, no--no, no!" cried the stout man, keeping the schoolmaster off as though he were afraid of him. [Pg 223] And then he added in a gruff voice, as he saw that he would not be repulsed, "_Psia krew_, what do you want? Go to the devil, little Bohnke."

But the words "little Bohnke" did not have the usual effect on the schoolmaster, for he felt sorry for the man. Besides, he wanted to know, he must know, how far it had gone with Mrs. Tiralla and Becker.

You could not believe all the gossip of the inn, but he would get at the truth from the man himself, the husband who had been insulted and deceived.

So after Mr. Tiralla had stumbled several times, Bohnke took hold of his arm. "Do let me accompany you," he said in an anxious, friendly voice.

"All right then," he growled. The man's solicitude did him good after all. Besides, what had he to fear from little Bohnke? He was pale and humble, pleased when you left him in peace, and did n.o.body any harm.

So Mr. Tiralla put up with the schoolmaster's company and they walked together like father and son. And when they came to the farm gate he did not even object to his going still further with him. "Come along, little Bohnke," he said, "come into my room. Marianna shall fetch us something out of the cellar; I've got the key. Then we two will have a drink by ourselves."

It was a long sitting. It had been early in the afternoon when they came from Starawies, now it was almost evening. During all those hours the house had been as quiet as though not a single soul, as though not even a mouse were there. And still every time a gla.s.s was put on the table with more noise than usual Mr. Tiralla had hastily put his finger to his lips, "Sh!" He had drawn nearer and nearer to his friend as he [Pg 224] whispered to him. For the schoolmaster was his friend, and it did him good to have such a friend. Did little Bohnke know what a mouse felt like when it was being enticed into a trap with bacon? Oh, his wife was kind to him now, she was so bright, and smiled the whole day long. She would even have brought him something to drink with her own hands if he had asked for it, she who had formerly turned up her nose and said, "Pooh! you stink!" if he had only drunk one small gla.s.s. But who could trust her? "For listen, little Bohnke"--Mr.

Tiralla put his arm round the other man's neck and breathed into his ear with trembling voice--"listen! she's laying a trap for me. And when I'm dead, my friend--sh!"--he clapped his hand over the other man's mouth as he was about to jump up--"be quiet. You mustn't betray me, hold your tongue. And when I'm dead, then, oh then----"

Mr. Tiralla could not speak any more. He hiccoughed and sobbed, for he had already drunk a great deal, and then, putting his head on the table, he began to weep.

The schoolmaster sat motionless. He scarcely heard what the man had been saying, for he was listening the whole time for a sound in the house. Would he not soon hear her steps, her voice? How he longed for them. But nothing moved. Everybody was in the fields bringing in the clover, Marianna had said when she brought the last bottle in, and then they had watched her through the window, as she, too, went off with her red skirt up to her knees and her rake over her shoulder. Bringing in the clover! Mrs. Tiralla had never helped to do that before. But this year--the man's face was distorted with jealousy--this year there were two young men there, her stepson and [Pg 225] Becker. Which of the two was it? Perhaps both. The man gave a dull groan. Two lovers. And still he could not learn anything for certain. This man was so awfully stupid, such an idiot.

The compa.s.sion which Bohnke had at first felt for Mr. Tiralla was changed into anger. It was the man's own fault, it served him right; why did he not take better care of her? He gave the weeping man a rough push, "Your wife has got some good friends; I suppose you know it?"

Mr. Tiralla did not fire up, but let his head remain where it was.

"Leave her. Oh, little Bohnke, the only friend I possess, if you knew, if you knew."

He gave several heartrending sighs, but when the schoolmaster was imprudent enough to ply him with questions in an eager, inquisitive voice, he suddenly grew silent. The other's eagerness had made him suspicious, and he obstinately closed his mouth; he would not be pumped.

So they sat in silence until it was evening, and still the schoolmaster delayed his departure. He must wait, she must be coming. The table and gla.s.ses were already swaying backwards and forwards before his eyes, and still he let Mr. Tiralla refill his gla.s.s, whilst he did the same to his. What else could he do, so as to beguile the awful time of waiting?

Bohnke had no idea how much he had drunk; if he had known it, he would have been terrified. He had always despised those who drank more than they could stand, and he had always known that he himself could not stand much, but he knew it no longer. She must come some time.

"Your health, Mr. Tiralla!"

"Much good may it do you, little Bohnke!"

They clinked their gla.s.ses once more without any [Pg 226] sign of mirth or enjoyment, only for the sake of drinking; the one consumed by the pangs of jealousy, the other pursued by the fear of death.

Then the crack of a whip was heard. At last! There she was--but with the others. The schoolmaster had staggered to the window, and in his haste had upset his chair with such a loud noise that Mr. Tiralla, terrified at what might betray them, screwed up his eyes, put his hands to his ears, and would have liked to creep under the table.

They drove into the yard. The oxen in front of the wagon came slowly along with wreaths of red clover and blue cornflowers round their horns, quite conscious of their finery. On either side a young man was walking with a rake thrown over his shoulder; a dark one on the one side, a fair one on the other; the one slender, the other more thick-set, but both nice-looking and both happy.

Bohnke looked on with envious eyes. And there--he pressed still closer to the window--on the top of the sweet-smelling hay, handsomer and happier-looking than he had ever seen her before, there she sat enthroned. Her light-coloured dress was fresh and clean, her broad-brimmed hat hung down her back, her clear forehead was unprotected; she looked younger and more light-hearted than her daughter, who was crouching behind her. Brown-skinned Marianna was hurrying behind the wagon, laughing. She had fallen off the piled-up clover, and had now to run behind.

It was as though gaiety personified had entered Starydwor. The schoolmaster clenched his fist and shook it at the wagon, and still he would have given his life to have been in the procession and have taken part in Mrs. Tiralla's joy. "How happy she is," he murmured, turning away. He hated her at that [Pg 227] moment on account of her happiness, but then he felt he could not begrudge her it, after all.

He walked past Mr. Tiralla with a gesture of loathing, and without saying good-bye.

"Come again, my friend, my brother, come soon," he said thickly.

Bohnke did not answer. He must go out, out to that deceitful, despicable woman.

He met her in the pa.s.sage.

Did she know that the schoolmaster was there? Had Marianna prepared her? Anyhow, she looked neither surprised nor terrified. Her blooming face turned neither redder nor paler, it kept the same rosy tint, and there was a kind expression in her eyes as she looked at him. She held out her hand.

"It was so beautiful," she said, smiling, as she drew a deep breath of pleasure.

"So beautiful," he repeated softly, devouring her with his eyes. He drew her away from the light almost by force. When they had reached the darkest corner, he said to her accusingly, "You're deceiving Mr.

Tiralla."

"Whose business is that?"

"Mine, mine, mine!" He shook her at every word, he was beside himself.

He felt he was intoxicated, and still he could not control himself. He raised his hand as though to strike her.

She caught hold of his arm, "Oh, don't hit me."

The gentleness with which she said it disarmed him. How dared he strike her? How dared he, who was intoxicated, strike this woman? All at once he lost his courage and his anger disappeared.

"Oh, why do you disturb me?" she wailed, in a low voice, and closed her eyes. "Please leave me, oh, do leave me. I was so happy."

[Pg 228]

Her voice touched him. Yes, he could well believe it, it does one good to be happy.

She had slowly retreated; now she was again standing in the light. He saw that she was escaping from him, and still he could not hold her.

At that moment Mikolai approached. "Where are you, mother?" The others now also appeared; the schoolmaster saw her surrounded by figures in light garments as through a mist. Rosa had taken the garlands off the oxen and now asked, "What are we to do with them?"

"Come, let's adorn the saints with them," answered the woman. "It's the first harvest of summer; may they be gracious to us." Then turning to the schoolmaster she said, "Come more frequently, Mr. Bohnke. I should be pleased if you would often come to see Mr. Tiralla."

All the man could do was to bend over her hand and whisper in a hoa.r.s.e voice:

"Certainly, if you wish it, Mrs. Tiralla."

They had adorned all the saints in the house, as well as the image of the Holy Virgin in the niche over the gateway, with the clover and cornflowers. The wagon with its huge load of clover was standing in the shed; to-morrow early it was to be put into sacks, this evening they were to have a rest. It was quite like Sunday at Starydwor; even the Sundays were not so beautiful formerly as the workdays were now.

Marianna was singing in the kitchen whilst making pancakes, and Mikolai was strolling about the yard smoking, with his arm round Rosa's shoulder. She was blushing and smiling at something he was saying to her.

[Pg 229]

"I tell you, you'll be sorry for it when you're once in the convent,"

he was saying in a persuasive voice. "It's a dreadful thing to have to nurse the sick, or pray the whole day. The Ladies of the Sacred Heart are all elderly, I've seen them once. And the Grey Sisters--oh, don't tell me anything," he said, putting her off as she was about to interrupt him, "I know what I'm saying. They're all old and ugly. What do you want to do there? Stop at home; we two get on so well together."

He drew her more closely to him, and then said very seriously, although two dimples began to show themselves in his round cheeks, "As I'm your brother, I'm going to give you some good advice. See that you marry Martin. I like him just as much as a brother already, so what will it be then? Let him stop here and put his money into the farm, so that we can buy some more land, or perhaps build a distillery, or a brick-kiln.

Or let him buy a mill here in the neighbourhood with the money that you'll bring him. It's all the same to me. All I want is that you don't go into a convent." He gave her a friendly push, so that she reeled a few steps away from him, and then catching her again he drew her to his side, laughing. "Won't that be nice, sister mine, eh? What do you say to it?"

"But does he like me?" she inquired, in a soft, timid voice. Her heart throbbed--husband and wife, and always united during many years, and many children. Her face flamed. If only he liked me, she thought, and it was as though she were praying.