id it disarmed him. How dared he strike
her? How dared he, who was intoxicated, strike this woman? All at once
he lost his courage and his anger disappeared.

"Oh, why do you disturb me?" she wailed, in a low voice, and closed her
eyes. "Please leave me, oh, do leave me. I was so happy."

[Pg 228]

Her voice touched him. Yes, he could well believe it, it does one good
to be happy.

She had slowly retreated; now she was again standing in the light. He
saw that she was escaping from him, and still he could not hold her.

At that moment Mikolai approached. "Where are you, mother?" The others
now also appeared; the schoolmaster saw her surrounded by figures in
light garments as through a mist. Rosa had taken the garlands off the
oxen and now asked, "What are we to do with them?"

"Come, let's adorn the saints with them," answered the woman. "It's the
first harvest of summer; may they be gracious to us." Then turning to
the schoolmaster she said, "Come more frequently, Mr. Boehnke. I should
be pleased if you would often come to see Mr. Tiralla."

All the man could do was to bend over her hand and whisper in a hoarse
voice:

"Certainly, if you wish it, Mrs. Tiralla."

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

They had adorned all the saints in the house, as well as the image of
the Holy Virgin in the niche over the gateway, with the clover and
cornflowers. The wagon with its huge load of clover was standing in the
shed; to-morrow early it was to be put into sacks, this evening they
were to have a rest. It was quite like Sunday at Starydwor; even the
Sundays were not so beautiful formerly as the workdays were now.
Marianna was singing in the kitchen whilst making pancakes, and Mikolai
was strolling about the yard smoking, with his arm round Rosa's
shoulder. She was blushing and smiling at something he was saying to
her.

[Pg 229]

"I tell you, you'll be sorry for it when you're once in the convent,"
he was saying in a persuasive voice. "It's a dreadful thing to have to
nurse the sick, or pray the whole day. The Ladies of the Sacred Heart
are all elderly, I've seen them once. And the Grey Sisters--oh, don't
tell me anything," he said, putting her off as she was about to
interrupt him, "I know what I'm saying. They're all old and ugly. What
do you want to do there? Stop at home; we two get on so well together."
He drew her more closely to him, and then said very seriously, although
two dimples