"Yes, I will tell you everything, because if you had not saved my poor child he would not have had anybody. Did you not care for him like a father?"
"We lived on a beautiful farm in America," she went on. "My grandfather and grandmother came from Bohemia as a young couple. They bought a small farm and worked diligently, and God blessed them. They were good people, who trusted in God. They had one son and a daughter. Their son wanted to study, so they sent him to school. As he did not work on the farm they had to take a helper, and he also came from the old country. They took a liking for him at once because he fitted in so well in the family. Once when grandfather was so seriously ill that he thought he would die, he called his helper and asked him, since he was single and without relatives in the land, if he would marry his daughter. He would be more easy if he knew in whose hands he had left his daughter and wife. That the daughter liked the good-looking and good-hearted young man, they knew well. But the young man asked for some time to think it over, and then told their daughter his history from the old country. What it all was I don't know, and when she, in spite of it all, was willing to take him, he acceded to my grandfather's wish, and none of them were ever sorry for it. My father was very kind to my mother. She had no reason to be sorry that she had married him. Grandfather recovered from his illness. For many years after that he worked together with his son-in-law and everything went well, so that with his help the small farm became a large one. My recollections are only of the big farm. I was their only child. My uncle Vojta was at that time a professor in New York, was married, and advised my parents to send me to him there, that I might go to school and become a lady. Grandfather approved of this; thus I was at home only in the summer, and over the winter at Uncle's in school till I was really trained. My Uncle noticed that I had a talent for singing, and the teachers confirmed it. Without the knowledge of my home folks he sent me to learn to sing. I loved to sing, but loved still more the praise showered upon me by the audiences at the school-concerts.
"In the meantime, so great a change transpired in my home that I hardly recognized it when they called me to grandfather's deathbed. Our farm was not far from the mountains. In those mountains was a mission conference for several weeks. Our whole family used to go to listen to those speakers who held religious lectures there—and all of them, as it was well-known about there, turned to Christ. I shall never forget how happy grandfather died, how he blessed us all, and with what fortitude grandmother bore her loss. For the first time I was really glad to be able to run away from my dear parents to my Uncle's. My beloved ones started a family altar at home. They sang songs to the honor of the Lamb who, they claimed, had delivered them from their sins. Well, I did not like to sing those songs. It seemed to me as if even the walls of our house would fall down on me.
"My splendid, kind father let me go sadly. I had half-a-year more school to complete, and one more examination. My dear parents rejoiced that then I would be wholly their's, because they had only me, and for me they worked and saved. My Uncle agreed with me in everything. Like me, he did not want to enter the narrow path which leads to glory. With the conclusion of the school-year, my study of singing also ended, and I returned home with the intention of persuading my parents to permit me to enter the opera—that means, to become a singer. More than half-a-year I fought at home with pleas and tears, but in vain. My father was wonderfully patient and kind to me. Mother and grandmother were often not so patient, but, like these grand mountains, they would not move, nor could anyone move my father to break his word that he would never give me permission to go. Well, what he did not give me, I took myself."
"What did you do?" compassionately asked Bacha. The lady broke out crying.
"I left home, leaving a letter behind saying that I loved the world, in which and for which, I wanted to live, and I loved the glory of the world and did not want to bury myself on the farm. I ran away to my Uncle's. My dear father came at once for me. He begged and pled, but I didn't want to go back with him, and did not do so.
"'When you find out that the world is as vain as soap-bubbles, and your heart is full of disillusionment, ready to despair, then remember that you have a father and a home to return to,' said father. 'Until that time you cannot count yourself one of us. We are standing on two different paths: the one we go on is narrow and leads high; the other, which you have chosen, is broad and will lead you from the heights to a deep abyss. Our prayers will surround you always like a fiery wall. I know that you will have to suffer much evil and much sorrow, but our prayers will prevent you from sinning as grievously as you will see others do around you.'
"Those were his last words. Oh, Bacha Filina, I went over that broad path. In a short time I was a famous singer. The people carried me on their arms. Though I was a simple farmer's daughter, because of the courses of the good schools which I had attended, the doors of high society opened to me, and I, like the prodigal, very soon forgot my parents, and especially my good father. Then Lord Gemer came into my life, and I married him, being ready to leave everything for him, even my fame. He promised me that even when I was his wife, he would agree to my keeping on with my singing. He kept that promise while we were in America and Italy. But in his native country it was impossible.
"And then everything began to turn out just as my dear father foretold. But I don't want to talk about that. I just wanted to say that I am that prodigal son."
"That you are, my lady, but only half-way; because the son returned, and you haven't returned yet."