But these were superfluous precautions, as it appeared that there was no one in the Jastrzeb and Rzeslewo forests which extended along the other side of the road. The miscreants who fired at Krzycki had decamped with due haste, evidently from fear of pursuit; or else they awaited the night, concealed in some distant underwood belonging to other villages. One of the forest rangers, who had previously fully questioned the coachman about the place of the ambush, found, while beating the adjacent thickets, empty revolver cartridge shells, in consequence of which the supposition arose that the attack was perpetrated by Rzeslewo peasants. Dolhanski did not doubt that what happened was a sequel of the death sentence, of which he learned from Gronski. But this seemed to him “much more interesting.” He thought that to meet the assailants and settle the issue in a proper manner would be a sort of hazard not devoid of a certain charm. And, in fact, soon a few more empty shells were found, but further search was without any results.
Then Dolhanski turned towards the highway leading to the city, and a half an hour later met Miss Anney, driving the britzka as fast as the horses could run; on the rear seat was the doctor.
It was market-day in the city. It happened therefore that at that time a dozen or more carts from Jastrzeb and Rzeslewo were returning homeward, and there was considerable bustle on the road. In consequence of this, Miss Anney did not become frightened at the sight of three armed men approaching her from an opposite direction, and, after a while, recognizing Dolhanski, she began to slacken the speed of the horses.
“How is the wounded man?”
“Conscious. Good.”
“How is it in the house?”
“Nothing new.”
“God be praised.”
The britzka again rolled on and after an interval was hidden in a cloud of dust, and Dolhanski, having naught else to do, returned also to Jastrzeb.
The forest rangers who were walking behind him began to converse with each other and interchange their ideas of a lady “who drives as well as the best coachman.” But in Dolhanski’s eyes there lingered also the picture of a young and charming maiden, with reins in hand, glowing countenance and wind-tossed hair. How much resolution and vivacity there was in all this! Never before did Miss Anney appear to him so enchanting. He knew from Gronski in what manner she had dashed to the city, and he was sincerely captivated by her. “That is not one of our transparent, jelly maidens who quiver at the slightest cause,” he said to himself, “that is life, that is bravery, that is blood.” He always admired everything which was English, beginning with the House of Lords and ending with the manufactured products of yellow leather, but at the present time his admiration waxed yet greater. “If her marriage portion is reckoned not in Polish gold pieces but in guineas,” he soliloquized farther, “then Laudie was born with a caul.” As he was an egotist, as well as a man of courage, he, after a while, ceased to bother his head about Krzycki and the danger which threatened all, and began to ruminate over his own situation in the world. He recollected that at one time he could have sold himself for a fat marriage settlement but with such an appendage that he preferred to renounce all. But if he had only found such an appendage as Miss Anney! And suddenly he was beset by regret that, after making her acquaintance, he had not been more attentive to her and had not tried to arouse in her an interest in himself. “Who knows,” he thought, “whether at the proper time, that was not possible.” But, in such case, it was proper for him to appear before her as more knightly and romantic and less sardonic and fond of club life. Evidently that was not her genre. Above all he could pot delude himself as to Pani Otocka. Dolhanski, from a certain time, had suspected his cousin of a secret attachment for Gronski, and at the same time could not understand what there was in Gronski that a woman could like. At the present time he was harassed by certain doubts about himself, for he felt, contrary to the good opinion which he entertained of himself, that there was something lacking in him; that in his internal mechanism some kind of wheel was wanting, without which, the entire mechanism did not go as it should. “For if,” he cogitated farther, “I can sustain myself upon the surface, only through a rich marriage and my genre pleases neither Pani Otocka, nor Miss Anney, nor women in general, then I am a twofold ass: first because I thought I could please and again because I cannot afford to change.” And he felt that he could not afford to change because of his indolence and from a fear that he would appear ridiculous.
“In view of this it will perhaps be necessary to end with Kajetana with her appurtenances.”
In a sour temper he returned to Jastrzeb and, having given orders to the night watch, he went into the house where he received better news. The doctor announced that Ladislaus had a lacerated left shoulder, but as the shot was fired from below and went upwards, the bullet coursed above the lungs. The second shot grazed over the ribs, tearing a considerable portion of the flesh, while the third one carried off the tip of the small finger. The wounds were painful but not dangerous. The coachman received a scalp wound. The most severely injured was the left forehorse, who, however, owing to the small calibre of the bullet was able to gallop with the other horses, but died an hour after the return.
All of which, however, tended to prove that the attack was not the swift revenge of the landless of Rzeslewo in defence of the forest rights, but a premeditated attempt. For this reason Gronski was of the opinion that Pani Otocka and Marynia ought to leave the following day. He wanted to escort them himself to the railroad station and then return. But both declared that they would remain until all were able to leave. On this occasion Marynia, for the first time in her life, quarrelled with Gronski and the matter actually ended in this, that Gronski had to yield. After all, the departure was not delayed for a long time, for the doctor promised that if great caution was observed, they could transfer the injured man to Warsaw in the course of a week. No one suggested an immediate departure to Miss Anney.
The rest of the evening was passed in conference. About ten o’clock Dr. Szremski, having performed all that was required of him, wanted to leave for the city, but out of regard for Pani Krzycki he remained for the night, and as he was much fatigued, he went to Gronski’s room and fell asleep at once. The ladies divided the work among themselves in this manner: the two sisters were to watch Pani Krzycki, who after the temporary excitement suffered severely from heart trouble and asthma. Miss Anney in conjunction with Gronski undertook to pass the night with the wounded young man.
II
Out in the world the first glow of dawn was just visible when Ladislaus awoke, after a fitful and slightly feverish sleep. He did not feel badly; only a thirst was consuming him; he began to seek with his eyes for some one near who could give him water, and espied Miss Anney sitting at the window. She must have watched a long time for she dozed, with her hands resting inertly upon her knees, and her head was bowed so low that Ladislaus at first caught only a glimpse of her light hair, illuminated by the light of the green lamp. She immediately started up however, as if she had a premonition that the patient was awake, and it seemed to him that she divined his thoughts, for, approaching noiselessly, she asked:
“Do you wish any water?”
Krzycki did not answer; he only smiled and winked his eyes in sign of assent; when she handed the drink to him, he eagerly drained the glass, and afterwards gently taking her hand in his own, which was uninjured, he pressed it to his lips and held it there a long time.
“My dearest ... my guardian angel,” he whispered.
And again he pressed her hand to his lips.
Miss Anney did not even withdraw her hand; only with the other one she took the glass and placed it upon the small cupboard standing near the bed. She bent over him and said:
“It is necessary for you to keep quiet. — I will be with you until you get well, but now it is essential that you think only of your health; only of your health.”
Her voice sounded in tones of quiet and gentle persuasiveness. Ladislaus dropped her hand. For some time he moved his
lips, but not a word could be heard. Evidently, he was weakened from emotion, as he grew pale and beads of perspiration stood upon his forehead.
Miss Anney began to wipe his face with a handkerchief and continued:
“Please be calm. If I thought that I was harming you, I would not come here, and I do want to be with you now. Not a word about anything until the wounds are healed; not a word. Promise me that.”
A moment of silence ensued.
“Let the lady retire for a rest,” Krzycki said in a pleading voice.
“I will go, I will go, but I am not at all tired. During the first half of the night, Pan Gronski sat up at your side and I slept. Really, I am not tired and I will sleep during the day. But you, sir, try to sleep. All that is necessary is for you not to look at me, and close your eyes. Then sleep will come of itself. Good-night, or rather good-day, for the day is breaking in the world.”
In fact the morning’s dawn reddened and gilded the sky, and the sun was about to rise at any moment. The light of the green lamp grew paler each moment and was merging into the brightness of the day. Ladislaus, desiring to show how he obeyed every word of his beloved guardian, closed his eyes, pretending to sleep, but after a while footsteps were heard in the hallway and the doctor entered accompanied by Miss Anney’s maid, whose turn it now was to attend to the patient. The doctor was so terribly drowsy that instead of eyes he had two slits surrounded by swollen eyelids, but he was as jovial and noisy as usual. He examined the bandages, admitted that the dressing was in proper shape, felt the pulse, and found everything in good order. Afterwards he opened the windows to freshen the air which was saturated with iodoform.
“A splendid morning,” said he. “Health flows from the skies. Let the windows remain open all day. As soon as they hitch the horses, I shall return to the city for I have patients who cannot wait. But I will come back in the evening and bring a nurse for our wounded friend.”
After which, addressing Miss Anney, he said:
“Only do not let it get into your head to drive for me, alone. The injured man is getting along nicely — a slight fever, very slight. I will see Pani Krzycki before I leave. Do not let her leave her bed all day, and let her nieces watch her. To you, sir, I recommend the bed. It is permissible to inhale but not to breathe one’s last breath. Ha! I will return about five in the evening, unless indeed, I am forced on the road to swallow a few pills from the socialist pharmacy. That is a stylish medicine and, it must be confessed, acts quickly.”
“How is Mother?” asked Ladislaus in alarm.
At this the doctor again turned to Miss Anney.
“Order him to lie quiet for he will not mind me. Your mother has more than fifteen years. Yesterday she started up suddenly, forgetting her rheumatism and weak heart action, laid you in bed, waited for my arrival; was present at the dressing, and after learning that there was no danger — at once! bah! — it was necessary to put her to bed. That is always the way with our women. But nothing is the matter with your mother; the usual reaction after a nervous strain. When she came to herself, I ordered her to remain in bed and not to appear here under the penalty of death — for you. With that, I restrained her. Otherwise she would have stuck here all night. Now your filigree cousins are watching her. They also almost turned topsyturvy; then I would have had four patients in one house. That would be a harvest — ha? Luckily there was to be found in this house one soul with different nerves, who did not swoon poetically. Ha!”
“How he is chattering,” thought Ladislaus.
But the doctor began to gaze with great respect at Miss Anney and continued:
“Rule Britannia! It is a pleasure to look at you, as I love God! What health, what nerves! She sat up all night until the morning, — and nothing! As if she freshly shook the dew off herself! I repeat once more, it is a pleasure to behold you. I am going to the dining-room to see if they will not give me some coffee before I leave, for I am hungry.”
But before he left he said to Miss Anney and her maid:
“Let the lady go with me and drink something warm before going to sleep, and you, little miss, sit here beside Pan Krzycki. It will be necessary to take his temperature and write it down. In case anything happens let Pan Gronski know. I will tell him to look in here occasionally. Good-by!”
Allowing Miss Anney, who smiled at the wounded man and repeated “Good-by,” to pass before him, he followed her. In the dining-room, they found not only coffee, but the two sisters with Gronski and Dolhanski. The former had sat up all night with Pani Krzycki, whose illness was much more serious than the doctor told the son. At one time it was even so serious that it was doubtful whether she would revive from a long faint. Both “filigree” sisters were almost worn out, and Marynia had eyelids of actual lily color. Gronski, by all means, wanted the doctor to examine her and prescribe something strengthening.
But he, feeling her pulse for a while, said:
“I will prescribe for you, miss, as a medicine, a certain maxim of Confucius, which says, ‘If thou wouldst know the truth, it is better to sit than stand, better to lie down than sit, and rather than lie down, it is better to sleep.’”
“That is all very well,” she answered, “but after all that has taken place, I do not know whether I can sleep.”
“Then let some one sing to you the lullaby, ‘Ah, ah! Two little kittens’; but only not your sister, as for her I prescribe the same — until it is effective.”
The rattle of the britzka interrupted further conversation. The doctor swallowed the hot coffee and took his leave. Dolhanski followed him and mounted a horse, held by a stable-boy. He announced that he would accompany the doctor through the forest.
“If that is for my safety, then it is absolutely unnecessary,” said the doctor.
“I ride on horseback daily,” replied Dolhanski, “and besides I want to see whether some May party has not again come to the Jastrzeb forest.”
“No,” answered the doctor, laughing. “I do not think that they will reappear so soon. They have in these matters a certain method. They prefer to be the hunters rather than the quarry, and understand that now it might come to a man hunt. In about a week or two, when they find out that their attempt was unsuccessful, it will be necessary to be more guarded.”
“When will Krzycki be able to leave?”
“It all depends upon the purity of his blood; and I presume that it is pure. After all, it will not be necessary to wait in Jastrzeb for a complete cure. He had a pretty close call; that cannot be gainsaid. For if I had not come the same day, infection might have set in. But the antiseptic did its work. Ah, that Englishwoman who looks through a heavenly mist. There is a woman for me. What? Would you believe that at first I was upset with indignation at you gentlemen for permitting her to drive under those circumstances? Only later did she tell me the actual facts. If I do not fall in love with her, I am a marinated herring without milt.”
“I would not advise it,” said Dolhanski, “as it seems that in that territory there already has appeared a William the Conqueror.”
“Do you think so? It may be possible! That also has occurred to my mind.”
“Was it because the English prudery has disappeared in a corner?”
“No. Nursing a wounded man is a woman’s duty and, in view of that, prudery must retire to a corner. Even yesterday’s expedition demonstrated only courage and energy. But through that heavenly mist there reach our wounded friend such warm rays that — oh! But that does not prevent me from being in love. If old Dzwonkowski fell in love with your little cousin why should not I indulge in the same pleasure.”
“In the same way you might fall in love with Saint Cecilia,” said Dolhanski. “My cousin is not a woman on two feet, but a symbol.”
And he stopped abruptly for he heard some voices coming from the depth of the forest and he sped his horse towards them.
“Nevertheless this clubman does not carry his soul on his shoulder,” thought the doctor.
But it was only a false
alarm, as it was merely village boys tending cattle. The doctor, who alighted from the britzka to rush to Dolhanski’s assistance in case of need, soon saw them among the forest thickets. After a while Dolhanski reappeared and pressing on his eye the monocle which some twigs had displaced, said:
“That is only an innocent rural picture; cowherds and cows trespassing in other people’s forests; nothing more.”
After which he bade the doctor adieu and returned to the house.
Miss Anney had not yet retired to sleep, for he found her conversing with Gronski and engaged in winding iodoform gauze. At the sight of him, she raised her eyes from her work and asked:
“Anything new in the forest?”
“Yes, indeed; something has happened to the doctor. He has been shot.”
At this, both suddenly rose, startled:
“What? Where? In the forest?”
“No! In Jastrzeb,” answered Dolhanski.
III
Ladislaus complied in every particular with Miss Anney’s injunctions for, immediately after she left, he dozed again and did not waken until the rays of the sun, which had ascended high in the heaven, fell on his head. He then knit his brows and, having partly shaken off his drowsiness, requested that the roller-blinds be lowered. The black-haired maid approached the window, wishing to lower them, but as she did this too eagerly and did not retain her hold on the string, the roller-blind dropped so suddenly that it loosened completely from the fastenings and tumbled down on the window sill. Then the maid, ashamed of her awkwardness, leaped upon the chair and from the chair to the sill and began to place anew the rollers in the rings. Krzycki looked at her bent form; at her upraised arms and at her black coiled hair, with a not yet conscious gaze, blinking his eyes as if he could not recall for the time being who that was; and not until she jumped from the frame, displaying at the same time graceful and plump limbs in black stockings, did he know who was before him; and he said:
Complete Works of Henryk Sienkiewicz Page 596