Part 3 - Chapter 8

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_ PART THIRD: CHAPTER VIII

Three days afterward, a woman arrived with the Hercynski balm and with her came the captain of the archers from Szczytno, with a letter, signed by the brothers and sealed with Danveld's seal; in that letter the Knights of the Cross called on heaven and earth as witnesses of the wrongs committed against them in Mazowsze, and with a threat of God's vengeance, they asked for punishment for the murder of their "beloved comrade and guest." Danveld added to the letter his personal complaint, asking humbly but also threateningly for remuneration for his crippled hand and a sentence of death against the Czech. The prince tore the letter into pieces in the presence of the captain, threw it under his feet and said:

"The grand master sent those scoundrels of Krzyzaks to win me over, but they have incited me to wrath. Tell them from me that they killed their guest themselves and they wanted to murder the Czech. I will write to the grand master about that and I will request him to send different envoys, if he wishes me to be neutral in case of a war between the Order and the Krakowski king."

"Gracious lord," answered the captain, "must I carry such an answer to the mighty and pious brothers?"

"If it is not enough, tell them then, that I consider them dog-brothers and not honest knights."

This was the end of the audience. The captain went away, because the prince departed the same day for Ciechanow. Only the "sister" remained with the balm, but the mistrustful _ksiondz_ Wyszoniek did not wish to use it, especially as the sick man had slept well the preceding night and had awakened without any fever, although still very weak. After the prince's departure, the sister immediately sent a servant for a new medicine apparently--for the "egg of a basilisk"--which she affirmed had the power to restore strength even to people in agony; as for herself, she wandered about the mansion; she was humble and was dressed in a lay dress, but similar to that worn by members of the Order; she carried a rosary and a small pilgrim's gourd at her belt. She could not move one of her hands. As she could speak Polish well, she inquired from the servants about Zbyszko and Danusia, to whom she made a present of a rose of Jericho; on the second day during Zbyszko's slumber, while Danusia was sitting in the dining-room, she approached her and said:

"May God-bless you, _panienko_. Last night after my prayers I dreamed that there were two knights walking during the fall of the snow; one of them came first and wrapped you in a white mantle, and the other said: 'I see only the snow, and she is not here,' and he returned."

Danusia who was sleepy, immediately opened her blue eyes curiously, and asked:

"What does it mean?"

"It means that the one who loves you the best, will get you."

"That is Zbyszko!" said the girl.

"I do not know, because I did not see his face; I only saw the white mantle and then I awakened; the Lord Jesus sends me pain every night in my feet and I cannot move my hand."

"It is strange that the balm has not helped you any!"

"It cannot help me, _panienko_, because the pain is a punishment for a sin; if you wish to know what the sin was, I will tell you."

Danusia nodded her little head in sign that she wished to know; therefore the "sister" continued:

"There are also servants, women, in the Order, who, although they do not make any vows, and are allowed to marry, are obliged to perform certain duties for the Order, according to the brothers' commands. The one who meets such favor and honor, receives a pious kiss from a brother-knight as a sign that from that moment she is to serve the Order with words and deeds. Ah! _panienko_!--I was going to receive that great favor, but in sinful obduracy instead of receiving it with gratitude, I committed a great sin and was punished for it."

"What did you do?"

"Brother Danveld came to me and gave me the kiss of the Order; but I, thinking that he was doing it from pure license, raised my wicked hand against him----"

Here she began to strike her breast and repeated several times:

"God, be merciful to me, a sinner!"

"What happened then?" asked Danusia.

"Immediately my hand became motionless, and from that moment I have been crippled. I was young and stupid--I did not know! But I was punished. If a woman fears that a brother of the Order wishes to do something wicked, she must leave the judgment to God, but she must not resist herself, because whosoever contradicts the Order or a brother of the Order, that one will feel God's anger!"

Danusia listened to these words with fright and uneasiness; the sister began to sigh and to complain.

"I am not old yet," said she; "I am only thirty years old, but besides the hand, God has taken from me my youth and beauty."

"If it were not for the hand," said Danusia, "you need not complain."

Then there was silence. Suddenly the sister, as if she had just remembered something, said:

"I dreamed that some knight wrapped you with a white mantle on the snow. Perhaps it was a Krzyzak! They wear white mantles."

"I want neither Krzyzaks nor their mantles," answered the girl.

But further conversation was interrupted by the _ksiondz_ Wyszoniek, who entering the room, nodded to Danusia and said:

"Praise God and come to Zbyszko! He has awakened and has asked for something to eat. He is much better."

In fact it was so. Zbyszko was a great deal better, and the _ksiondz_ Wyszoniek was almost sure that he would recover, when an unexpected accident upset all his expectations. There came envoys from Jurand with a letter to the princess, containing dreadful news. In Spychow, half of Jurand's _grodek_ had been burned, and he himself during the rescue was struck by a beam. It is true that the _ksiondz_ Kaleb, who wrote the letter, said that Jurand, would recover, but that the sparks had burned his remaining eye so badly that there was very little sight left in it, and he was likely to become blind.

For that reason, Jurand asked his daughter to come to Spychow as soon as possible, because he wished to see her once more, before he was entirely encompassed by darkness. He also said that she was to remain with him, because even the blind, begging on the roads, had some one to lead them by the hand and show them the way; why should he be deprived of that pleasure and die among strangers? There were also humble thanks for the princess, who had taken care of the girl like a mother, and finally Jurand promised that, although blind, he would go to Warszawa once more, in order to fall at the lady's feet and beg her for further favor for Danusia.

The princess, when the _ksiondz_ Wyszoniek had finished reading the letter, could not say a word for some time. She had hoped that when Jurand came to see his daughter and her, she would be able by the prince's and her own influence to obtain his consent for the wedding of the young couple. But this letter, not only destroyed her plans, but in the meanwhile deprived her of Danusia whom she loved as well as she did her own children. She feared that Jurand would marry the girl to some neighbor of his, so as to spend the rest of his life among his own people. It was no use to think about Zbyszko--he could not go to Spychow, and then who knew how he would be received there. The lady knew that Jurand had refused to give him Danusia; and he had said to the princess herself that on account of some secret reason, he would never consent to their marriage. Therefore in great grief she ordered the principal messenger to be brought to her, as she desired to ask him about the Spychowski misfortune, and also to learn something about Jurand's plans.

She was very much surprised when a stranger came instead of the old Tolima, who used to bear the shield after Jurand and usually carried his messages; but the stranger told her that Tolima had been seriously injured in the last fight with the Germans and that he was dying in Spychow; Jurand being very ill himself, asked her to send his daughter immediately, because every day he saw less and less, and perhaps in a few days he would become blind. The messenger begged the princess to permit him to take the girl immediately after the horses were rested, but as it was already dusk she refused; especially as she did not wish to distress Zbyszko and Danusia by such a sudden separation.

Zbyszko already knew all about it, and he was lying like one stricken by a heavy blow; when the princess entered, and wringing her hands, said from the threshold:

"We cannot help it; he is her father!" he repeated after her like an echo: "We cannot help it----" then closed his eyes, like a man who expects death immediately.

But death did not come; but in his breast there gathered a still greater grief and through his head ran sad thoughts, like the clouds which driven by the wind, obstruct the sun and quench all joy in the world. Zbyszko understood as well as the princess did, that if Danusia were once in Spychow, she would be lost to him forever. Here everybody was his friend; there Jurand might even refuse to receive him, or listen to him, especially if he were bound by a vow, or some other unknown reason as strong as a religious vow. Then how could he go to Spychow, when he was sick and hardly able to move in bed. A few days ago, when the prince rewarded him with the golden spurs, he had thought that his joy would conquer his illness, and he had prayed fervently to God to be permitted to soon rise and fight with the Krzyzaks; but now he had again lost all hope, because he felt that if Danusia were not at his bedside, then with her would go his desire for life and the strength to fight with death. What a pleasure and joy it had been to ask her several times a day: "Do you love me?" and to see how she covered her smiling and bashful eyes, or bent and answered: "Yes, Zbyszko."

But now only illness, loneliness and grief would remain, and the happiness would depart and not return.

Tears shone in Zbyszko's eyes and rolled slowly down on his cheeks; then he turned to the princess and said:

"Gracious lady, I fear that I shall never see Danusia again."

And the lady being sorrowful herself, answered:

"I would not be surprised if you died from grief; but the Lord Jesus is merciful."

After a while, however, wishing to comfort him, she added:

"But if Jurand die first, then the tutelage will be the prince's and mine, and we will give you the girl immediately."

"He will not die!" answered Zbyszko.

But at once, evidently some new thought came to his mind, because he arose, sat on the bed and said in a changed voice:

"Gracious lady----"

At that moment Danusia interrupted him; she came crying and said from the threshold:

"Zbyszku! Do you know about it already! I pity _tatus_, but I pity you also, poor boy!"

When she approached, Zbyszko encircled his love with his well arm, and began to speak:

"How can I live without you, my dearest? I did not travel through rivers and forest, I did not make the vow to serve you, that I might lose you. Hej! sorrow will not help, crying will not help, bah! even death itself, because even if the grass grow over me, my soul will not forget you, even if I am in the presence of the Lord Jesus or of God the Father--I say, there must be a remedy! I feel a terrible pain in my bones, but you must fall at the lady's feet, I cannot--and ask her to have mercy upon us."

Danusia hearing this, ran quickly to the princess' feet, and having seized them in her arms, she hid her face in the folds of the heavy dress; the lady turned her compassionate but also astonished eyes to Zbyszko, and said:

"How can I show you mercy? If I do not let the child go to her sick father, I will draw God's anger on myself."

Zbyszko who had been sitting on the bed, slipped down on the pillows and did not answer for a time because he was exhausted. Slowly, however, he began to move one hand toward the other on his breast until he joined them as in prayer.

"Rest," said the princess; "then you may tell me what you wish; and you, Danusia, arise and release my knees."

"Relax, but do not rise; beg with me," said Zbyszko.

Then he began to speak in a feeble and broken voice:

"Gracious lady--Jurand was against me in Krakow--he will be here also, but if the _ksiondz_ Wyszoniek married me to Danusia, then--afterward she may go to Spychow because there is no human power that could take her away from me----"

These words were so unexpected to the princess, that she jumped from the bench; then she sat down again and as if she had not thoroughly understood about what he was talking, she said:

"For heaven's sake! the _ksiondz_ Wyszoniek."

"Gracious lady! Gracious lady!" begged Zbyszko.

"Gracious lady!" repeated Danusia, embracing the princess' knees.

"How could it be done without her father's permission?"

"God's law is the stronger!" answered Zbyszko.

"For heaven's sake!"

"Who is the father, if not the prince? Who is the mother, if not you, gracious lady?"

And Danusia added:

"Dearest _matuchna_!"[104]

[Footnote 104: Diminutive of mother; it is
a charming expression. The Polish language,
like the Italian, has a great variety of
diminutives.]

"It is true, that I have been and am still like a mother to her," said the princess, "and Jurand received his wife from my hand. It is true! And if you are once married--everything is ended. Perhaps Jurand will be angry, but he must be obedient to the commands of the prince, his lord. Then, no one need tell him immediately, only if he wanted to give the girl to another, or to make her a nun; and if he has made some vow, it will not be his fault that he cannot fulfill it. Nobody can act against God's will--perhaps it is God's will!"

"It cannot be otherwise!" exclaimed Zbyszko.

But the princess, still very much excited, said:

"Wait, I must collect my thoughts. If the prince were here, I would go to him immediately and would ask him: 'May I give Danusia to Zbyszko or not?' But I am afraid without him, and there is not much time to spare, because the girl must go to-morrow! Oh, sweet Jesus, let her go married--then there will be peace. But I cannot recover my senses again--and then I am afraid of something. And you Danusia, are you not afraid?--Speak!"

"I will die without that!" interrupted Zbyszko.

Danusia arose from the princess' knees; she was not only really on confidential terms with the good lady, but also much spoiled by her; therefore she seized her around the neck, and began to hug her.

But the princess said:

"I will not promise you anything without Father Wyszoniek. Run for him immediately!"

Danusia went after Father Wyszoniek; Zbyszko turned his pale face toward the princess, and said:

"What the Lord Jesus has destined for me will happen; but for this consolation, may God reward you, gracious lady."

"Do not bless me yet," answered the princess, "because we do not know what will happen. You must swear to me upon you honor, that if you are married, you will not prevent the girl from going to her father, or else you will draw his curse upon her and yourself.

"Upon my honor!" said Zbyszko.

"Remember then! And the girl must not tell Jurand immediately. We will send for him from Ciechanow, and make him come with Danusia, and then I will tell him myself, or I will ask the prince to do it. When he sees that there is no remedy, he will consent. He did not dislike you?"

"No," said Zbyszko, "he did not dislike me; perhaps he will be pleased when Danusia is mine. If he made a vow, it will not be his fault that he could not keep it."

The conversation was interrupted by the entrance of Danusia and the _ksiondz_ Wyszoniek. The princess immediately asked his advice and began to tell him with great enthusiasm about Zbyszko's plan; but as soon as he heard about it, he made the sign of the cross from astonishment and said:

"In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost! How can I do it? It is advent!"

"For God's sake! That is true!" exclaimed the princess.

Then there was silence; only their sorrowful faces showed what a blow those words of the _ksiondz_ Wyszoniek were to all of them.

Then he said after a while:

"If you had a dispensation, then I would not oppose it, because I pity you. I would not ask for Jurand's permission, because our gracious lady consents and, vouches for the prince's consent--well! they are the mother and the father for the whole of Mazowsze. But without a bishop's dispensation, I cannot. Bah! if the _ksiondz_ bishop of Kurdwanow were with us, he would not refuse a dispensation, although he is a severe priest, not like his predecessor, Bishop Mamphiolus, who used always to answer: _Bene! Bene!_"

"Bishop Jacob of Kurdwanow loves the prince and myself very much," said the lady.

"Therefore I say he would not refuse a dispensation, more so because there are some reasons for one: the girl must go to her father and that young man is ill and may die--Hm! _in articulo mortis!_ But without a dispensation I cannot."

"I could obtain it afterward from Bishop Jacob; no matter how severe he may be, he will not refuse me this favor. I guarantee, he will not refuse," said the princess.

To this the _ksiondz_ Wjszoniek who was a good and easy man, replied:

"A word of the Lord's anointed is a great word. I am afraid of the _ksiondz_ bishop, but that great word! Then the youth could promise something to the cathedral in Plock. Well, as long as the dispensation will not come, there will be a sin--and nobody's but mine. Hm! It is true that the Lord Jesus is merciful and if any one sin not for his own benefit, but on account of mercy for human misery, he forgives more easily! But there will be a sin, and suppose the bishop should refuse, who will grant me pardon?"

"The bishop will not refuse!" exclaimed Princess Anna.

And Zbyszko said:

"That man Sanderus, who came with me, has pardons ready for everything."

The _ksiondz_ Wyszoniek probably did not believe entirely in Sanderus' pardons; but he was glad to have even a pretext so that he could help Danusia and Zbyszko, because he loved the girl, whom he had known from childhood. Then he remembered that at the worst, he would be punished with church penitence, therefore turning toward the princess he said:

"It is true, I am a priest, but I am also the prince's servant. What do you command, gracious lady?"

"I do not wish to command but to beg," answered the lady. "If that Sanderus has pardons----"

"Sanderus has. But there is the question about the bishop. He is very severe with the canons in Plock."

"Do not be afraid of the bishop. I have heard that he has forbidden the priest to carry swords and crossbows and has forbidden different licenses, but he has not forbidden them to do good."

The _ksiondz_ Wyszoniek raised his eyes and his hands, and said:

"Let it be according to your wish!"

At this word, joy filled their hearts. Zbyszko again sat on the bed and the princess, Danusia and Father Wyszoniek sat round it and began to plan how they should act.

They decided to keep it secret so that not a soul in the house should know anything about it; they also decided that Jurand must not know until the princess herself told him in Ciechanow about everything.

In the meanwhile, the _ksiondz_ Wyszoniek was to write a letter from the princess to Jurand and ask him to come to Ciechanow, where he could find better medicine and where he will not weary. Finally, they decided, that Zbyszko and Danusia will go to confession, that the wedding ceremony will be performed during the night, when everybody will retire.

The thought came to Zbyszko to have his shield-bearer, the Czech, as a witness of the wedding; but he gave up the idea when he remembered that he had received him from Jagienka. For a moment she stood in his memory as though present, so that it seemed to him that he saw her blushing face and her eyes full of tears, and heard her pleading voice say: "Do not do that! Do not repay me with evil for good, nor with misery for love!" Then at once great compassion for her seized him, because he felt that a great wrong would be done her, after which she would find no consolation under the roof of Zgorzelice, nor in the depths of the forest, nor in the fields, nor in the abbot's gifts, nor in Cztan and Wilk's courtship. Therefore he said inwardly: "Girl, may God give you the best of everything, for although I am willing to bend the sky for you, I cannot." In fact, the thought that he could not help it, immediately brought him relief, and tranquillity returned, so that immediately he began to think only about Danusia and the wedding.

But he was obliged to call the Czech to help him; therefore although he determined not to say a word to him about what was going to happen, he summoned him and said:

"To-day I am going to confession as well as to the Lord's table; therefore you must dress me in my best clothing as if I were going to the king's palace."

The Czech was a little afraid and began to look into his face; Zbyszko having noticed this, said:

"Do not be alarmed, people do not go to confession only when they expect to die; the holy days are coming, Father Wyszoniek and the princess are going to Ciechanow, and then there will be no priest nearer than in Przasnysz."

"And are you not going?" asked the shield-bearer.

"If I recover my health, then I will go; but that is in God's hands."

Therefore the Czech was quieted; he hurried to the chests, and brought that white _jaka_ embroidered with gold, in which the knight used to dress for great occasions, and also a beautiful rug to cover the bed; then having lifted Zbyszko, with the help of the two Turks, he washed him, and combed his long hair on which he put a scarlet zone; finally he placed him on red cushions, and satisfied with his own work, said:

"If Your Grace were able to dance, you could celebrate even a wedding!"

"It will be necessary to celebrate it without dancing," answered Zbyszko, smiling.

In the meanwhile the princess was also thinking how to dress Danusia, because for her womanly nature it was a question of great importance, and under no consideration would she consent to have her beloved foster child married in her everyday dress. The servants who were also told that the girl must dress in the color of innocence for confession, very easily found a white dress, but there was great trouble about the wreath for the head. While thinking of it, the lady became so sad that she began to complain:

"My poor orphan, where shall I find a wreath of rue for you in this wilderness? There is none here, neither a flower, nor a leaf; only some green moss under the snow."

And Danusia, standing with loosened hair, also became sorrowful, because she wanted a wreath; after awhile, however, she pointed to the garlands of immortelles, hanging on the walls of the room, and said:

"We must weave a wreath of those flowers, because we will not find anything else, and Zbyszko will take me even with such a wreath."

The princess would not consent at first, being afraid of a bad omen; but as in this mansion, to which they came only for hunting, there were no flowers, finally the immortelles were taken. In the meanwhile, Father Wyszoniek came, and received Zbyszko's confession; afterwards he listened to the girl's confession and then the gloomy night fell. The servants retired after supper, according to the princess' order. Some of Jurand's men lay down in the servants' room, and others slept in the stables with the horses. Soon the fires in the servants' room became covered with ashes and were quenched; finally everything became absolutely quiet in the forest house, only from time to time the dogs were heard howling at the wolves in the direction of the wilderness.

But in the princess', Father Wyszoniek's and Zbyszko's rooms, the windows were shining, throwing red lights on the snow which covered the court-yard. They were waiting in silence, listening to the throbbing of their own hearts--uneasy and affected by the solemnity of the moment which was coming. In fact, after midnight, the princess took Danusia by the hand and conducted her to Zbyszko's room, where Father Wyszoniek was waiting for them. In the room there was a great blaze in the fireplace, and by its abundant but unsteady light, Zbyszko perceived Danusia; she looked a little pale on account of sleepless nights; she was dressed in a long, stiff, white dress, with a wreath of immortelles on her brow. On account of emotion, she closed her eyes; her little hands were hanging against the dress, and thus she appeared like some painting on a church window; there was something spiritual about her; Zbyszko was surprised when he saw her, and thought that he was going to marry not an earthly, but a heavenly being. He still thought this when she kneeled with crossed hands to receive the communion, and having bent her head, closed her eyes entirely. In that moment she even seemed to him as if dead, and fear seized his heart. But it did not last long because, having heard the priest's voice repeat: "_Ecce Agnus Dei_," his thoughts went toward God. In the room there were heard only the solemn voice of Father Wyszoniek: "_Domine, non sum dignus_," and with it the crackling of the logs in the fireplace and the sound of crickets playing obstinately, but sadly, in the chinks of the chimney. Outdoors the wind arose and rustled in the snowy forest, but soon stopped.

Zbyszko and Danusia remained sometime in silence; the _ksiondz_ Wyszoniek took the chalice and carried it to the chapel of the mansion. After a while he returned accompanied by Sir de Lorche, and seeing astonishment on the faces of those present, he placed his finger on his mouth, as if to stop the cry of surprise, then he said:

"I understand; it will be better to have two witnesses of the marriage; I warned this knight who swore to me on his honor and on the relics of Aguisgranum to keep the secret as long as necessary."

Then Sir de Lorche first kneeled before the princess, then before Danusia; then he arose and stood silently, clad in his armor, on which the red light of the fire was playing. He stood motionless, as if plunged in ecstasy, because for him also, that white girl with a wreath of immortelles on her brow seemed like the picture of an angel, seen on the window of a Gothic cathedral.

The priest put her near Zbyszko's bed and having put the stole round their hands, began the customary rite. On the princess' honest face the tears were dropping one after another; but she was not uneasy within, because she believed she was doing well, uniting these two lovely and innocent children. Sir de Lorche kneeled again, and leaning with both hands on the hilt of his sword, looked like a knight who beholds a vision. The young people repeated the priest's words: "I ... take you ..." and those sweet quiet words were accompanied again by the singing of the crickets in the chimney and the crackling in the fireplace. When the ceremony was finished, Danusia fell at the feet of the princess who blessed them both, and finally intrusted them to the tutelage of heavenly might; she said to Zbyszko:

"Now be merry, because she is yours, and you are hers."

Then Zbyszko extended his well arm to Danusia, and she put her little arms round his neck; for a while one could hear them repeat to each other:

"Danuska, you are mine!"

"Zbyszku, you are mine!"

But soon Zbyszko became weak, because there were too many emotions for his strength, and having slipped on the pillow, he began to breathe heavily. But he did not faint, nor did he cease to smile at Danusia, who was wiping his face which was covered with a cold perspiration, and he did not stop repeating:

"Danuska, you are mine!" to which every time she nodded her fair head in assent.

This sight greatly moved Sir de Lorche, who declared that in no other country had he seen such loving and tender hearts; therefore he solemnly swore that he was ready to fight on foot or on horseback with any knight, magician or dragon, who would try to prevent their happiness. The princess and Father Wyszoniek were witnesses of his oath.

But the lady, being unable to conceive of a marriage without some merriment, brought some wine which they drank. The hours of night were passing on. Zbyszko having overcome his weakness, drew Danusia to him and said:

"Since the Lord Jesus has given you to me, nobody can take you from me; but I am sorry that you must leave me, my sweetest berry."

"We will come with _tatulo_ to Ciechanow," answered Danusia.

"If only you do not become sick--or--God may preserve you from some bad accident.--You must go to Spychow--I know! Hej! I must be thankful to God and to our gracious lady, that you are already mine--because we are married and no human force can break our marriage."

But as this marriage was performed secretly during the night and separation was necessary immediately afterward, therefore from time to time, not only Zbyszko, but everybody was filled with sadness. The conversation was broken. From time to time, also the fire was quenched and plunged all heads in obscurity. Then the _ksiondz_ Wyszoniek threw fresh logs on the charcoal and when something whined in the wood, as happens very often when the wood is fresh, he said:

"Penitent soul, what do you wish?"

The crickets answered him and the increasing flames which brought out from the shadow the sleepless faces, were reflected in Sir de Lorche's armor, lighting in the meanwhile Danusia's white dress and the immortelles on her head.

The dogs outside again began to howl in the direction of the forest, as they usually do, when they scent wolves.

As the hours of the night flew on, oftener there was silence; finally the princess said:

"Sweet Jesus! We had better go to bed if we are going to sit like this after a wedding, but as it was determined to watch until morning, then play for us, my little flower, for the last time before your departure, on the little lute--for me and for Zbyszko."

"What shall I play?" asked she.

"What?" said the princess. "What else if not the same song which you sang in Tyniec, when Zbyszko saw you for the first time."

"Hej! I remember--and shall never forget it," said Zbyszko. "When I heard that song somewhere else--I cried."

"Then I will sing it!" said Danusia.

And immediately she began to thrum on the lute; then, having raised her little head, she sang:

"If I only could get
The wings like a birdie,
I would fly quickly
To my dearest Jasiek!
I would then be seated
On the high enclosure;
Look, my dear Jasiulku,
Look on me, poor orphan."

But at once her voice broke, her mouth began to tremble and from beneath the closed eyelids the tears began to flow down her cheeks. For a moment she tried not to let them pass the eyelashes, but she could not keep them back and finally she began to cry, exactly as she did the last time she sang that song to Zbyszko in the prison in Krakow.

"Danuska! what is the matter, Danuska?" asked Zbyszko.

"Why are you crying? Such a wedding!" exclaimed the princess. "Why?"

"I do not know," answered Danusia, sobbing. "I am so sad! I regret Zbyszko and you so much."

Then all became very sorrowful; they began to console her, and to explain to her that she was not going to remain in Spychow a long time, but that they would surely be with Jurand in Ciechanow for the holy days. Zbyszko again encircled her with his arm, drew her to his breast and kissed the tears from her eyes; but the oppression remained in all hearts, and thus the hours of night passed.

Finally from the court-yard there resounded such a sudden and dreadful noise, that all shivered. The princess, having rushed from the bench, exclaimed:

"For God's sake. The sweeps of the wells! They are watering the horses!"

And the _ksiondz_ Wyszoniek looked through the window, in which the glass balls were growing gray and said:

"The night grows white and the day is coming. _Ave Maria, gratia plena_----"

Then he left the room but having returned after a while, he said:

"The day breaks, but the day will be dark. Jurand's people are watering their horses. Poor girl, you must be ready!"

The princess and Danusia began to cry very loudly and both, together with Zbyszko, began to lament, as simple people do when they have to separate; it was half lamenting and half singing, which flowed from full souls, in a natural way, as the tears flow from the eyes.

"Hej! there is no use of lamenting,
We must separate, my darling,
Farewell--hej!"

Zbyszko nestled Danusia for the last time on his breast and kept her for a long time, as long as he could breathe and until the princess drew her from him, in order to dress her for the journey.

In the meanwhile it was broad daylight.

In the mansion everybody was up and moving round. The Czech came to Zbyszko to ask about his health and to ascertain what were his orders.

"Draw the bed to the window," said the knight to him.

The Czech drew the bed to the window, very easily; but he was surprised when Zbyszko told him to open it. He obeyed, however, only he covered his master with his own fur coat, because it was cold outside, although cloudy, and snow was falling.

Zbyszko began to look; in the court-yard, through the flakes of the falling snow, one could see lights, and round them, on steaming horses, Jurand's people were standing. All were armed. The forest was entirely covered with the snow; one could hardly see the enclosures and the gate.

Danusia, all wrapped up in furs, rushed once more into Zbyszko's room; once more she put her arms around his neck and bade him farewell:

"Although I am going, still I am yours."

He kissed her hands, her cheeks and her eyes, and said:

"May God protect you! May God lead you! You are mine, mine until death!"

When they again separated them, he raised himself as much as he could, leaned his head on the window and looked out; consequently, through the flakes of the snow, as through a veil, he saw Danusia sitting in the sleigh, the princess holding her a long time in her arms, the ladies of the court kissing her and the _ksiondz_ Wyszoniek making the sign of the cross for the journey. Before the departure, she turned once more toward him, stretched out her arms and exclaimed:

"Zbyszku, remain with God!"

"May God permit me to see you in Ciechanow!"

But the snow was falling abundantly, as though to deaden every sound, and to cover everything; therefore those last words came muffled to their ears, so that it seemed to each of them that they were already calling to each other from afar.

END OF PART THIRD. _

Read next: Part 4: Chapter 1

Read previous: Part 3: Chapter 7

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