“Because you had said what you should not—and I had no choice.—Someone had——” She broke off suddenly; Yanek was slowly pushing through the crowd towards her. “He’s here, then?” whispered Matthew, pointing to the young cleric, whose hands people wanted to kiss, and who smilingly refused the honour. “He behaves like the son of a Squire! And how well I remember him, not so long since, running after the kine!” “He, tending kine?—Never!” she exclaimed, hurt by the very thought. “I have said. I recollect perfectly how the organist thrashed him one day for letting the kine graze in Prychek’s oat-patch, he asleep under a pear-tree the while.” Yagna left him, and timidly made her way towards the young cleric, who smiled at her, but (finding himself the observed of all observers) turned his eyes away at once; and having purchased some tiny engravings of saints at a booth, he set about distributing these to anyone who cared to get them. She stood rooted to the spot, gazing on him with ardent eyes. And to her vermilion lips there came a smile—bright, calm, and very sweet, like honey. “Here is your holy patron, Yagna,” he said, handing her a picture of St. Agnes.—Their hands just touched, and fell apart, as from the smart of a burn. She, shaking all over, durst not utter one syllable. He added a word or two, but she remained speechless, her eyes drowned in his. The crowd drove them asunder. She placed the engraving in her bodice, and looked about her for some time. He was not visible any more, having entered the church, where another service was going on. But still she saw him in fancy. “How like he is to that saint above the altar!” she said, uttering her thoughts aloud. “And that’s why all the girls stare at him so!—They are foolish. ‘Not for dogs, I’m afraid, are sausages made.’” She looked round quickly: Matthew was by her side! Murmuring some inarticulate words, she tried to get away from him, but in vain; he followed her step by step. It was some time, however, before he ventured on putting this question: “Yagna, what says your mother about Simon’s banns?” “What can she say? Let him marry, if he choose: his will is his own.” He made a wry face, and asked hesitatingly: “But tell me, will she make over to him his portion of land?” “How should I know? She has said naught to me. He can ask her himself.” Simon and Nastka then joined them, with Andrew, who appeared suddenly, the five thus forming quite a group. Simon spoke first: “Yagna, do not take Mother’s part; she would do me an injustice.” “No, it is your part I am taking.—But, good heavens! how you have changed in these last few days!... ’Tis wonderful!” And, indeed, the brother she now saw before her was quite a dashing young fellow—clean-shaven, straight-backed, with a hat tilted on one side, and a snow-white capote! “Because I am my mother’s drudge no longer.” “And are you better off in your freedom?” she inquired, pleased at his spirit.