her with his soul and eyes: "Dost thou guess and perceive my thoughts?" But she, perhaps because she was restrained by the presence of so many witnesses, did not reply to his glances; sitting as if immersed in thought and letting her gaze follow the swallows, which flitted so nimbly above the trees of the garden and the pond. Ladislaus, when he now looked at her was impressed, as if with certain admiration, at the contrast between her full-grown form, powerful arms, and well developed bosom and her small, girlish face. But he saw in all this only a new charm and spell under whose powers there flew at times through his love a burning desire similar indeed to pain and stifling the breath in his breast. In the meantime the sun sank measurably and began to bathe in the ruddy evening twilight. From the freshly mown lawns came a strong fragrance of the little hay heaps, which were warmed by the daily summer heat. Somehow the air with the approach of night became more bracing, for, from the alder-trees bordering on the pond, came from time to time a cool breath, so weak and light, however, that the leaves on the trees did not stir. The swallows described curves higher and higher above the reddened surface of the pond. In the lofty poplars with trimmed tops a stork clattered in his nest, now stooping with his head backward and then lowering it as if bowing to the setting sun or officiating at the evening vespers. "I will play something as a farewell to Jastrzeb," Marynia suddenly announced. "Ah, beloved creature!" said Gronski; "shall I go for the stand and notes?" "No. I will play something from memory." And saying this, she handed to Miss Anney an album with views of Jastrzeb, and hurried upstairs. In a short time she returned with her violin. For a time she kept it propped on her shoulder and raising her eyes upwards, considered what she should play. She selected Schumann's "Ich grolle nicht." The overflowing tones filled the quiet of the garden. They began to sing, muse, long, and weep; oscillate, hush, and slumber, and with them the human soul acted in unison. Sorrow became more melancholy, yearning more longing, and love more tender and deeply enamoured. And "the little divinity" continued playing--white in her muslin dress--calm, with pensive eyes lost somewhere in the illimitable distance, immaculate, and as if borne to heaven by music and her own playing. To Gronski it seemed that he had before him some kind of mystic lily, and he began in his soul to say to her, as it were, a litany, in which every word was a worship of the little violinist, because she was playing and she awoke in him a love as destitute of the slightest earthly dross as if she were not a maiden composed of blood and flesh, but in reality some kind of mystic lily.