“Gone to the priest’s.—Yagna! About Nastka ... I ... I said ... what I should not....” “You ass! To think none knows of that!—They’ll marry, and there’s the end of it.” “But—will Mother let them? Nastka has but one acre.” “If he asks, she will refuse. But he is old enough to know what to do, and how to do it.” “He is, Yagna. And if he fall out with Mother and be disobedient and marry in despite of her, then he will take his share of the land, and settle down on it.” “Talk ye and gabble as much as you like; but take heed lest Mother hear you.” She felt out of temper. What! that Nastka! she too, to have a sweetheart and rejoice with the others! Each one was returning to his own darling to-day: she raged at the thought. “Yes, yes, they all are coming back!” But then a sudden thrill of excitement filled her mind!—Leaving Andrew, who remained in great awe of her, she went straight back to her cabin, to smarten herself up like the others for the home-coming, and like them, too, to await the freed prisoners with feverish anxiety. She made her toilet with great care, singing the while for joy and longing, and running out at times to look down the road towards which they all were turned. “And whom are your eyes seeking?” was the unexpected question put to her by someone. Her arms dropped to her sides, as a bird’s broken wings, and a cruel agitation fluttered her heart. Truly, whom had her eyes to seek? No one was hastening back to her.—“Only Antek, peradventure!” she murmured low, and heaved a sigh, while remembrances rose up in her mind, as of a wonderful dream, but dreamt, ah! so long ago! “Yet the smith told me only yesterday that he would not be set free with the others, but lie in prison for many a year.” “But if perchance he is freed—what then?” She said the words again, as if her soul were bent on expecting him. Nevertheless, it was not with joy or exultation: rather with a lurking sense of distaste. “What though he comes?” she said, pettishly; “he is nothing to me now!” At that moment old Boryna gabbled inarticulately. It was, she knew, his way of asking for food, but she turned her back on him with aversion. “Die and have done with it!” she said with a sudden burst of spite, and went out into the porch not to see the man. Down at the pond, there were batlets beating the linen, and washermaidens showing crimson through the green boughs. A dry breeze just moved the willows. Now and again the sun peeped from behind a veil of white cloud, making the little pools glitter, and golden rimples dance about the pond. The rain-mists had gone; and above the low grey stone walls rose the orchard-trees, with their blossoming tops, like immense nosegays, wafting fragrant odours and twittering notes through the air. “And perhaps, too, I may see him!” she thought dreamily, turning her face towards the wind and the dews which fell dripping from the drying blooms and leaves.