She trembled and seized hold of his clenched hand; she must win him, he must help her, he had no right to refuse her his help, what should she do then? Thoughts flew like lightning through her brain; the first of December, the first of December, oh, Martin would run away from her much earlier than that, he was even now like a young bird trying its wings, and she would soon not be able to hold him any longer. Martin, Böhnke--Böhnke, Martin, all ran together. She could not think clearly, she was beside herself with terror. She threw her arms round the schoolmaster's neck and, putting her lips close to his ear, sobbed, "You must, you must, I implore you!"
Her face, which in spite of hot tears and cold dew was still so alluring, so dazzling, was quite close to his. Then he caught hold of her with all his strength. "You've made me a drunkard," he jerked out, from between his clenched teeth, and strained her to his heart, so that she lost her breath, "and you're making me a murderer--but by God, I love you, I love you!"
CHAPTER XII
Winter had come during the night.
Even yesterday the gossamer had flown across the fields and hung fast to the bare bushes and tops of the few remaining turnips; to-day the first snow lay on the ground. There was not much of it, but still it was wet and cold.
The young men, who were sowing the last seeds, finished their day's work in silence, a silence that was as heavy as the grey, lowering sky overhead, and as sad as the damp, sullen-looking fields in November. They had nothing pleasant to say to each other. Martin's thoughts were far away, he was longing to leave Starydwór, leave it far behind him; and Mikolai was also deep in thought.
The happiness that Mikolai had felt during the summer was a thing of the past. Although a farm of one's own is not to be despised, he would much rather be servant somewhere else than master at Starydwór. How awful his father was! Why, he was out of his mind! If only he could catch that fellow Böhnke by the throat, he thought to himself, clenching his fists in fury. Why did he come creeping to the farm day after day, locking himself in with his father? They never let anybody in, but they would drink and drink, until they had not as much sense left as the cattle. Mikolai swore to himself as he thought of it. And then his stepmother even expected him to put the horses in and drive that drunken rascal home when he felt too tired to have a chat with Marianna. Let him sleep himself sober in the first ditch he came across; it was quite good enough for him. But instead of that he had to be hoisted up into the cart and driven at a walking pace along the pitch-dark road, so that he, Mikolai, was frozen and wet to the skin and felt thoroughly annoyed. What could she see in the schoolmaster to make her so patient and calm that she put up with his visits, which were certainly not doing his father any good?
The young fellow felt very surprised, and now and then something like suspicion awakened within him. How could his stepmother always be smiling? Was it not rather a thing to cry about? But who could know if her smiles came from the heart? She was, no doubt, to be pitied too. It was wrong of Marianna to speak so unkindly of her mistress. She ought not to shrug her shoulders and make faces, but it was just like a servant. That was another cause of annoyance to the young man. If there had been anything between the schoolmaster and his stepmother, he would, of course, have noticed it of his own accord, he was no longer a foolish boy. Rosa gave him much more to think of than that. He felt very uneasy about her, she was so strange. He could not dissuade her from that confounded wish of hers to go into a convent. She persisted in it more than ever. He had already tired himself out with talking to her about it. She would listen quietly, with her eyes fixed on her hands lying idly in her lap, and then, when he knew of no other argument to bring forward, she would say softly, but more decidedly than if she had spoken in a loud voice, "I shall go into a convent, all the same."
What a pity the girl was so holy. "Holy," that was what Marianna called her. If only Becker and she had married, how nice it would have been. Mikolai still harped on this, and it was this disappointment that grieved him most of all. Why did Martin not care for Rosa?
As they were returning home together in the early twilight, Mikolai once more took courage. He was certainly not going to offer Rosa again to Becker--he felt too sorry for her to do that--but he wanted to hear why his beautiful plan could not be realized. So he said, "The snow has come, now you'll soon be going," and cast a covert glance at his friend to see what he would say to it.