"What have I done? Yesterday my father and mother told me that I was not worthy of their care and love. Go, they said to me a hundred times; go back to your old potter whom you love so much, since you sigh so for your old life! We can easily do without you; we are satisfied with Wladzio. You see, they themselves have advised me to do it."
It must have been through strong love on the one hand and great weakness on the other that Iermola at last consented to an act which he considered only as a theft; but he had not the strength to resist his child's entreaties. Radionek begged him, kissed him, hugged him, fell on his knees to him. At last the old man lost all power over himself, and taking the child by the hand, rushed from the cabin.
XIX.
[THE DRAMA IN THE FOREST]
The night, so dark that one could not see a step before him, was fortunately very mild and perfectly still; there was not a breath of wind. The inhabitants of the village had been asleep a long time; now and then there was the noise of the barking of a dog tied to the door-sill of some cabin, the hoarse song of the cocks who kept watch over the village, and in the distance the cry of the night birds,--owls and screech-owls,--as they answered each other like vigilant guards on sentry duty. The old man and the child passed through the village in silence; they reached the crossroads, crossed themselves before the great crucifix set up on the spot, and took by chance the road which crossed a vast region of marshes and bare brush-wood, beyond which one entered the wood leading to Lithuania. Prudence obliged them to avoid open roads; nevertheless, it was important to go in some certain direction. Iermola, who formerly had been an excellent hunter, easily succeeded in finding his way in the midst of a forest, guiding himself now by the light of the sky and now by the mosses on the trees. In the daytime he knew that he could easily succeed in not getting lost; but he scarcely thought it possible during the night, and not on the beaten road,--to keep the same direction. He therefore turned into a narrow pathway leading to a pitch-kiln situated about a mile off, in a clearing called Smolna, and resolved to follow it until daylight, when he would leave it and turn to the north through the coppices and bogs.
The two walked on in silence, each praying in a low voice. Radionek seemed born again. He held his head up joyfully; he supported Iermola; and when they reached the protecting forest which surrounded them with its undergrowth and concealed them with its shadows, they both began to breathe more freely.
"Oh, good father," said the young refugee, "two, three, five days more perhaps, of patience, fatigue, and effort, and we shall come to some place in the open fields where we can settle down and be quiet. No one will know us; no one will hunt for us. We shall have enough bread; I saw that you put it in your sack. We shall not be obliged to go into the villages; there is water in the woods, and we shall not die of thirst even if we have to suck the leaves on the trees. During the day we will rest, we will sleep on the thick brakes; and we will walk all night and early in the morning."
The old man sighed as he listened to him, for he knew very well that all this was neither so simple nor so easy; he did not wish to frighten the child, but he said to himself that the strength of both of them would doubtless give out, and that in the woods they were exposed to face a thousand dangers, and meet with a thousand obstacles. Some one passing, meeting the two fugitives, might arrest them and turn them over to justice. Thoughts like this, and others still more sad, crushed the old man's spirit; but he forced himself to smile and say nothing, and listened to the joyous babble and tender outpourings of the child, who had been so long deprived of such enjoyment that now he could not be satisfied, and his old father had not the strength to undeceive him or tell him to be silent.
The fear of being surprised had doubtless quickened their pace, for long before daylight they reached the clearing of Smolna, where the path stopped. From there no beaten road could be seen through the undergrowth, which was literally ploughed down in every direction by the wheels of the wagons of the peasants who came there for wood and resin torches.
Day had scarcely dawned; the road became more and more rugged and difficult. The old man determined to make a halt, knowing very well that no one would come to look for them in that place. They lighted a fire with boughs and some coal picked up near the kiln; and Radionek, full of joy, stretched himself at the old man's feet.