“They are watering the horses! That is Hreptyoff! Those are our well-sweeps! Even to the gate, even to the gate! O Jesus! Hreptyoff—Hreptyoff!”
But here the forest grows thin, the snow-fields open, and with them the slope, from which a number of glittering eyes are looking on the running Basia.
But those were not wolves’ eyes,—ah, those were Hreptyoff windows looking with sweet, bright, and saving light! That is the “fortalice” there on the eminence, just that eastern side turned to the forest!
There was still a distance to go, but Basia did not know when she passed it. The soldiers standing at the gate on the village side did not know her in the darkness; but they admitted her, thinking her a boy sent on some message, and returning to the commandant. She rushed in with her last breath, ran across the square near the wells where the dragoons, returning just before from a reconnoissance, had watered their horses for the night, and stood at the door of the main building. The little knight and Zagloba were sitting just then astride a bench before the fire, and drinking krupnik.[27] They were talking of Basia, thinking that she was down there somewhere, managing in Rashkoff. Both were sad, for it was terribly dreary without her, and every day they were discussing about her return.
“God ward off sudden thaws and rains. Should they come. He alone knows when she would return,” said Zagloba, gloomily.
“The winter will hold out yet,” said the little knight; “and in eight or ten days I shall be looking toward Mohiloff for her every hour.”
“I wish she had not gone. There is nothing for me here without her in Hreptyoff.”
“But why did you advise the journey?”
“Don’t invent, Michael! That took place with your head.”
“If only she comes back in health.”