OLD PEASANT COSTUME.
The six men were talking now, and the landlord turned from Lek and joined in the conversation eagerly.
The shadows of the long twilight deepened. Men and women ran to and fro in the streets. Every one seemed in a hurry, as though much must be said and done in a brief time.
Presently a great bell sounded in a steeple. The hurrying people paused. Each one uplifted his or her hands, waved them in a circle, and cried,—
“Alas! To-morrow! Hurry, good men, all, good women, all, hurry!”
What did it mean? “Have I gone mad?” asked Lek. “Am I dreaming?”
Near the inn was a green, parched and faded. In the centre was a withered tree; under it was a maiden. She was very fair; her dress was of silk and jewels, and on her arms were heavy bracelets of gold. Unlike the other people, she did not seem hurried and anxious. She appeared to take little interest in the strangely stimulated activities around her.
Lek went to her.
“Pardon a poor student seeking information,” he said. “Your people all treat me rudely and strangely; they will not listen to me. I am a traveller, and I came here civilly, and only asked for food and lodging until to-morrow.”
“To-morrow! The word is a terror to most of them; it is no terror to me. I care not for to-morrows,—they are days of disappointments; I had them once,—I am glad they do not come oftener to me. I shall go to sleep at midnight, here where I was deserted. You are a stranger, I see. You belong to the world; every day has its to-morrow. Go away, away to your own people, and to your own life of to-morrows. This is no place for you here.”