Marynia rose, and, taking the vial which stood on the shelf, poured drop after drop into a spoon; then she gave them to Litka, who, when she had finished drinking, pressed her lips to Marynia’s forehead.
A moment of silence followed; then the child said, as if to herself,—
“There is no need of waking mamma.”
“No; no one will wake her,” answered Pan Stanislav. “All will be as Litus wishes.”
And he began to stroke her hand, which was lying on the coverlid. She looked at him, repeating, as was her wont,—
“Pan Stas, Pan Stas!”
For a while it seemed that she would fall asleep; but evidently the child was thinking of something with great effort, for her brows rose. At last, opening widely her eyes, she looked now at Pan Stanislav, and now at Marynia. In the room nothing was heard save the sound of rain on the windows.
“What is the matter with the child?” asked Marynia.
But she, clasping her hands, whispered in a voice barely audible, “I have a great, great prayer to Aunt Marynia, but—I am afraid to say it.”
Marynia bent her mild face toward the little girl.