At present he had not time to meditate over this, but it seemed to him that he had caught something, that in the veil before his eyes, he saw, as it were, an opening that might turn out to be a deception; but at the moment, when he felt that still Litka was with them, he thought that her presence could be understood only in that manner. Just then some funeral came, for, in the tower, which stood in the middle of the cemetery, the bell began to sound. Pan Stanislav gave Marynia his arm, and they went towards the gate. On the way Marynia, thinking evidently more about Litka, said,-- "Now I am certain that we shall be happy." And she leaned more on Pan Stanislav's arm, for the gusts of wind had become so violent that it was difficult for her to resist them. One of these carried her veil around his neck. Reality began to call to him. He pressed the arm of the living woman to his side, and felt that loving, if it cannot ward away death, can at least harmonize life. When they were seated in the carriage, he took Marynia's hand, and did not let it go during the whole way. At moments solace returned to him almost perfectly, for he thought that that maiden, true and kind to the core of her nature, would be able to make good what was lacking in his feeling, and revivify in him that which was palsied. "My wife! my wife!" repeated he, in mind, looking at her; and her honest, clear eyes answered, "Thine." When they arrived at the house, Plavitski had not returned from his walk before dinner; they were all by themselves then. Pan Stanislav sat down by her side, and under the influence of those thoughts which had passed through his head on the way, he said,-- "You declared that Litka was with us; that is true. I have always returned from the cemetery as if cut down; but it is well that we were there." "It is; for we went as if for a blessing," said Marynia. "I have that same impression; and, besides, it seems to me as if we were united already, or, at least, were nearer than before." "True; and this will be both a sad and a pleasant remembrance." He took her hand again, and said,-- "If you believe that we shall be happy, why defer happiness? My kind, my best, I, too, trust that it will be well with us; let us not defer the day. We have to begin a new life; let us begin it promptly." "Make the decision. I am yours with all my soul." Then he drew her toward him, as he had the day before, and began to seek her lips with his lips; and she, whether under the influence of the thought that his rights were greater on that day, or under the influence of awakening thoughts, did not turn her head away any more, but, half closing her eyes, she herself gave him her lips, as if they had been thirsty a long time. CHAPTER XXVII.