Fire in the Steppe Read Free Page B

maiden, or one of better heart, or more honest. O my Anulka! [4] my Anulka, beloved!"
    "I saw her death," said Kharlamp; "may God grant us all to die with such piety!"
    Here silence followed, as if some of their sorrow had gone with their tears; then Kmita said, "Tell us how it was, and take some mead to support you."
    "Thank you," said Kharlamp; "I will drink from time to time if you will drink with me; for pain seizes not only the heart, but the throat, like a wolf, and when it seizes a man it might choke him unless he received some assistance. I was going from Chenstohova to my native place to settle there quietly in my old age. I have had war enough; as a stripling I began to practise, and now my mustache is gray. If I cannot stay at home altogether, I will go out under some banner; but these military confederations to the loss of the country and the profit of the enemy, and these civil wars, have disgusted me thoroughly with arms. Dear God! the pelican nourishes its children with its blood, it is true; but this country has no longer even blood in its breast. Sviderski [5] was a great soldier. May God judge him!"
    "My dearest Anulka!" interrupted Pani Kmita, with weeping, "without thee what would have happened to me and to all of us? Thou wert a refuge and a defence to me! O my beloved Anulka!"
    Hearing this, Kharlamp sobbed anew, but briefly, for Kmita interrupted him with a question, "But where did you meet Pan Michael?"
    "In Chenstohova, where he and she intended to rest, for they were visiting the shrine there after the journey. He told me at once how he was going from your place to Cracow, to Princess Griselda, without whose permission and blessing Anusia was unwilling to marry. The maiden was in good health at that time, and Pan Michael was as joyful as a bird. 'See,' said he, 'the Lord God has given me a reward for my labor!' He boasted also not a little,—God comfort him!—and joked with me because I, as you know, quarrelled with him on a time concerning the lady, and we were to fight a duel. Where is she now, poor woman?"
    Here Kharlamp broke out again, but briefly, for Kmita stopped him a second time: "You say that she was well? How came the attack, then, so suddenly?"
    "That it was sudden, is true. She was lodging with Pani Martsin Zamoyski, who, with her husband, was spending some time in Chenstohova. Pan Michael used to sit all the day with her; he complained of delay somewhat, and said they might be a whole year on the journey to Cracow, for every one on the way would detain him. And this is no wonder! Every man is glad to entertain such a soldier as Pan Michael, and whoever could catch him would keep him. He took me to the lady too, and threatened smilingly that he would cut me to pieces if I made love to her; but he was the whole world to her. At times, too, my heart sank, for my own sake, because a man in old age is like a nail in a wall. Never mind! But one night Pan Michael rushed in to me in dreadful distress: 'In God's name, can you find a doctor?' 'What has happened?' 'The sick woman knows no one!' 'When did she fall ill?' asked I. 'Pani Zamoyski has just given me word,' replied he. 'It is night now. Where can I look for a doctor, when there is nothing here but a cloister, and in the town more ruins than people?' I found a surgeon at last, and he was even unwilling to go; I had to drive him with weapons. But a priest was more needed then than a surgeon; we found at her bedside, in fact, a worthy Paulist, who, through prayer, had restored her to consciousness. She was able to receive the sacrament, and take an affecting farewell of Pan Michael. At noon of the following day it was all over with her. The surgeon said that some one must have given her something, though that is impossible, for witchcraft has no power in Chenstohova. But what happened to Pan Michael, what he said,—my hope is that the Lord Jesus will not account this to him, for a man does not reckon with words when pain is tearing him.