She nodded: "And for mother too."

"What do you mean?" He looked at her in surprise. "She'll earn her seat
in heaven by her own merits, she won't require your prayers."

"Who knows!" There was an expression of doubt in the girl's pure face,
and she stared straight in front of her as though she saw something
that others could not see. She trembled, and her voice was full of
agony as she continued, "Who can know for certain that she does not
require anybody to pray for her? Look, look!" She seized her brother's
hand, and he shuddered at the peculiar expression in her eyes, that had
become even more fixed than before. "I see mother in a white dress--oh,
how beautiful she looks--I see her flying up to heaven--but look, look!
There are spots on the hem of her dress. All those dark spots--do you
see them, Mikolai?--are dragging her down. I'm not sure of it, not sure
of it"--she shook her head, and there was a troubled gleam in her eyes
and a terrified look on her face--"I love her so, I love her so, but
there's something." She passed her hand over her eyes. "I can't wipe it
away, it's there and it tortures me. Mikolai, brother!" [Pg 285] She
threw her arms round his neck, sobbing bitterly, and her tears wetted
his cheek. "You must love me, love me dearly."

Her trembling lips sought his and imprinted a long kiss on them. He
kissed her tenderly in return; his dear little sister, and she wanted
to leave him?

"Speak to the old man," he begged. All at once he felt convinced that
his sister would be able to alter everything. "Talk to him," he said
ingenuously, "remonstrate with him, point out to him how wrong it is to
drink, and he won't do it any more. Then all will be right. And you
needn't go into a convent."

"I'll speak to him. I'll remonstrate with him. But I shall go into a
convent all the same," she added in a low voice.

He did not hear her last words, he was too happy at the thought of her
speaking to their father. Yes, there was some truth in it, there was
something holy about Rosa, she could convert heathens, he felt sure.

He whistled as he went downstairs.

Martin Becker gave a start when he heard his friend's clear tones. How
happy he seemed to be. An embarrassed smile crossed his face; to-morrow
by this time Mikolai would not be whistling so contentedly, for he,
Martin, if God were merciful to him, would be away over the fields, far
away, almost there where the setting sun had left a yellow streak in
t