“‘You may pet her and guard and caress, But give her you must none the less; Aye, and him that shall take her you’ll bless!’” “The world is made so, and there is no changing it.—Now, Mother, shall we drink together?” “How can I say? I will not force her.—Will you drink, Yagna?” “I ... I don’t know,” she stammered in a thin voice, turning her burning face to the window. “The lass is docile,” Simon put in, with gravity. “‘A docile calf, beyond all doubt, thrives, sucks much milk, and waxes stout.’” “Well, shall I pass it on to you, Mother?” “Drink ye, by all means; but we do not yet know who it is proposes,” Dominikova remarked, attentive to the rules of etiquette that required her not to seem to know until told by the messenger. “Who?” he exclaimed. “Why, who but Boryna himself!” and he lifted his glass. “What, an aged man! A widower!” she objected, as in duty bound. “Aged? ’Tis a sin to say so! Aged? and but now he was accused.” “I know: only the child was not his.” “How could it be? A man of such repute, was he to put up with any but the very best?—Come, here’s to you, Mother!” “Fain would I drink; but he is a widower.—Old, he may soon be in Abraham’s bosom: and what then? Her stepchildren would thrust her out.” Here Simon interposed. “Matthias,” he growled, “said there must needs be a settlement.” “Of course before the wedding.” The Voyt, having filled another glass, turned with it to Yagna. “Come, drink, Yagna, drink to us! The swain we propose you is strong as an oak: you’ll be his lady, the keeper of his household, the first of all in the village! See, I drink to you, Yagna: do not be shamefaced!” She flushed scarlet, and turned away; but finally, throwing her apron over her face, she tasted a little, and threw the rest on to the floor. The glass then passed round to all. The old dame produced bread and salt, and lastly some dried and smoked sausages as a relish. Several times in succession did they drink, and in a little their tongues were loosened. But Yagna had fled into the inner chamber, where, she knew not why, her tears burst forth, her sobs becoming audible through the partition. Her mother would have followed, but the Voyt kept her back. “Even calves, when weaned from their dams, shed tears: ’tis common. She is not to go away, no, not to the next village even: and you will still enjoy each other’s company. It is I, the Voyt, who say it: she shall come to no harm: believe me.” “Aye, but I always thought to have grandchildren for my consolation.” “Let not that trouble you. The first of them will be here before the harvest!” “The future is known to the Lord alone, not to us sinners. We have drunk to her betrothal, and yet my heart is heavy, as if ’twere a burial.” “Nothing strange. An only daughter, she ought to be duly mourned over.... Yet a little more, to drive your grief away.—Ah, do you know, let us all go to the tavern. There Yagna’s future husband awaits us, boiling over with fierce impatience.”