th longing eyes towards Starawie['s], whose
church steeple was pointing to heaven like a finger. She would feel
easier as soon as she saw Martin again. "For God's sake don't leave me,
darling," she would beseech him. It was not his face that she loved so
much that she could not live without it even for a few hours, it was
not his laugh that had bewitched her, neither was it his light
footstep, nor his slender, erect body, but it was his youth she wanted,
his heart that was so young, so fresh, so pure, that it carried hers
away too to where everything was bright and happy.

"Martin, Martin!" She stretched out her arms as she gave the beloved
name into the care of the winds. Then she saw him coming. He was alone,
for Mikolai, who had gone to confession with him, had stopped at the
booths behind the church. He came quickly along the edge of the field,
as though he were in a hurry. The woman smiled--ah, he was longing to
see her, as she him. "Martin!" she called once more; a sweet welcome
lay in her voice.

But he gave a start. About what was he thinking so gloomily? It was not
his wont to frown like that and keep his eyes lowered. And he did not
jump over the ditch that separated the field from the road, as he
generally did in order to reach the farm gate more quickly; it looked
almost as though his footsteps lagged, as he deliberately walked along
to the crossing that led into the road further down.

She went to meet him. What did she care if the people from the
settlement were standing at the crossroads near the Bo[^z]a m[,e]ka on
their way back from [Pg 244] church, staring at them open-mouthed? She
seized hold of his hands and smiled at him. "What are you thinking of,
dear?"

"I've been to confession," he said in a low voice, as he drew his hands
away from her and put them behind his back, so that she could not get
hold of them. He walked beside her, his head bent and without touching
her.

How his face used to beam when he saw her again after an hour's
separation! How he had wanted to touch her even though it were only her
dress! What was it, what could it be? A sudden sense of hopelessness
took possession of the woman. Yes, he was going away from her, he was
trying to leave her. As she gazed into his face she could discover no
sign of joy at seeing her again, but a struggle was depicted on his
open features, which had never been able to hide anything. "I've been
to confession," he had said, nothing more. Alas,