The major would always sigh sympathetically when his wife talked thus, and would then take the earliest opportunity to leave the room to "laugh it out," as he expressed it.

Thus life went on with its usual monotony at Zirkow.

Harry's letters to the major, which came regularly twice a month, were always read aloud to the ladies with enthusiasm by the old dragoon, then shown in part to Krupitschka, and then left lying about anywhere.

They invariably vanished without a trace; but once when the major wished to refer to one of these important doc.u.ments and could not find it, it turned out that Zdena had picked it up--by chance.

At last the spring made its joyous appearance and stripped the earth of its white robe of snow. For a few days it lay naked and bare, ugly and brown; then the young conqueror threw over its nakedness a rich mantle of blossoms, and strode on, tossing a bridal wreath into the lap of many a hopeless maiden, and cheering with flowers many a dying mortal who had waited but for its coming.

Zdena and the major delighted in the spring; they were never weary of watching its swift work in the garden, enjoying the opening of the blossoms, the unfolding of the leaves, and the songs of the birds. The fruit-trees had donned their most festal array; but Zdena was grave and sad, for full three weeks had pa.s.sed since any letter had come from Harry, who had been wont to write punctually every fortnight; and in his last he had not mentioned his spring leave of absence.

In feverish impatience the girl awaited the milkman, who always brought the mail from X---- just before afternoon tea. For days she had vainly watched her uncle as he sorted the letters. "'The post brings no letter for thee, my love!'" he sang, gaily.

But Zdena was not gay.

This afternoon the milkman is late. Zdena cannot wait for him quietly; she puts on an old straw hat and goes to meet him. It is nearly six o'clock; the sun is quite low, and beams pale golden through a ragged veil of fleecy clouds. A soft breeze is blowing; spring odours fill the air. The flat landscape is wondrous in colour, but it lacks the sharp contrasts of summer. Zdena walks quickly, with downcast eyes. Suddenly the sound of a horse's hoofs falls upon her ear. She looks up. Can it be? Her heart stands still, and then--why, then she finds nothing better to do than to turn and run home as fast as her feet can carry her. But he soon overtakes her. Springing from his horse, he gives the bridle to a peasant-lad pa.s.sing by.

"Zdena!" he calls.

"Ah, it is you!" she replies, in a weak little voice, continuing to hurry home. Not until she has reached the old orchard does she pause, out of breath.

"Zdena!" Harry calls again, this time in a troubled voice, "what is the matter? Why are you so--so strange? You almost seem to be frightened!"

"I--I--you came so unexpectedly. We had no idea----" she stammers.

"Unexpectedly!" Harry repeats, and his look grows dark. "Unexpectedly!

May I ask if you have again changed your mind?"

Her face is turned from him. Dismayed, a.s.sailed by a thousand dark fancies, he gazes at her. On a sudden he perceives that she is sobbing; and then----

Neither speaks a word, but he has clasped her to his breast, she has put both arms around his neck, and--according to the poets, who are likely to be right--the one perfect moment in the lives of two mortals is over!

The spring laughs exultantly among the trees, and rains white blossoms upon the heads of the fair young couple beneath them. Around them breathes the fragrance of freshly-awakened life, the air of a new, transfigured existence; there is a fluttering in the air above, as a cloud of birds sails over the blossom-laden orchard.

"Zdena, where are you?" calls the voice of the major. "Zdena, come quickly! Look! the swallows have come!"

The old dragoon makes his appearance from a garden-path. "Why, what is all this?" he exclaims, trying to look stern, as he comes in sight of the pair.

The young people separate hastily; Zdena blushes crimson, but Harry says, merrily,--

"Don't pretend to look surprised; you must have known long ago that I--that we loved each other." And he takes Zdena's hand and kisses it.

"Well, yes; but----" The major shrugs his shoulders.

"You mean that I ought to have made formal application to you for Zdena's hand?" asks Harry.

The old officer can contain himself no longer; his face lit up by the broadest of smiles, he goes to Zdena, pinches her ear, and asks,--

"Aha, Zdena! why must people marry because they love each other, hey?"

CHAPTER XLV.

OLD BARON FRANZ.

Old Baron Franz Leskjewitsch had changed greatly during the past winter. Those who saw most of him declared that he was either about to die or was growing insane. He moved from one to another of his various estates more restlessly than ever, appearing several times at Vorhabshen, which he never had been in the habit of visiting in winter, and not only appearing there, but remaining longer than usual. There was even a report that on one occasion he had ordered his coachman to drive to Zirkow; and, in fact, the old tumble-down carriage of the grim Baron had been seen driving along the road to Zirkow, but just before reaching the village it had turned back.

Yes, yes, the old Baron was either about to die or was "going crazy."

There was such a change in him. He bought a Newfoundland dog, which he petted immensely, he developed a love for canary-birds, and, more alarming symptom than all the rest, he was growing generous: he stood G.o.dfather to two peasant babies, and dowered the needy bride of one of his bailiffs.

In the beginning of April he appeared again at Vorhabshen, and seemed in no hurry to leave it.

The day after Harry's sudden arrival at Zirkow, the old man was sitting, just after breakfast, in a leather arm-chair, smoking a large meerschaum pipe, and listening to Studnecka's verses, when the housekeeper entered to clear the table, a duty which Lotta, the despot, always performed herself for her master, perhaps because she wanted an opportunity for a little gossip with him.

Studnecka's efforts at entertainment were promptly dispensed with, and the old Baron shortly began, "Lotta, I hear that good-for-naught Harry is in this part of the country again; is it so?"

"Yes, Herr Baron; the cow-boy met him yesterday on the road," replied Lotta, sweeping the crumbs from the table-cloth into a green lacquered tray with a crescent-shaped brush.

"What is he doing here?" the old man asked, after a pause.

"They say he has come to court the Baroness Zdena."

"Oh, indeed!" The Baron tried to put on a particularly fierce expression. "It would seem that since that money-bag at Dobrotschau has thrown him over, he wants to try it on again with the girl at Zirkow, in hopes I shall come round. Oh, we understand all that."

"The Herr Baron ought to be ashamed to say such things of our Master Harry," Lotta exclaimed, firing up. "However, the Herr Baron can question the young Herr himself; there he is," she added, attracted to the window by the sound of a horse's hoofs. "Shall I show him up? or does the Herr Baron not wish to see him?"

"Oh, send him up, send him up. I'll enlighten the fellow."

In a few moments Harry makes his appearance. "Good-morning, uncle! how are you?" he calls out, his face radiant with happiness.

The old Baron merely nods his head. Without stirring from his arm-chair, without offering his hand to his nephew, without even asking him to sit down, he scans him suspiciously.

With his hand on his sabre, Harry confronts him, somewhat surprised by this strange reception, but nowise inclined to propitiate his uncle by any flattering attentions.

"Do you want anything?"

"No."

"Indeed? You're not short of money, then?

"On the contrary, I have saved some," Harry replies, speaking quite after his uncle's fashion.

"Ah! saved some, have you? Are you growing miserly?--a fine thing at your age! You probably learned it of your financial acquaintances," the old Baron growls.

"I have saved money because I am going to marry, and my betrothed is without means," Harry says, sharply.