"If I were his betrothed I would hurry and have the monogram embroidered on my outfit," drawls the major. "Let me come there, if you please." These last words are addressed to Wenkendorf, who is about to close the piano. The major takes his place at it, bangs away at his triumphal march with immense energy and a tolerably harmonious bass, then claps down the cover of the much-tortured instrument, locks it, and puts the key in his pocket. "There, that's enough for to-day!" he declares.
[CHAPTER XX.]
KOMARITZ AGAIN.
The major carried out his plan. On Saturday the painter made solemn entry into Zirkow with his train of workmen, their ladders, paint-pots, and brushes, to turn the orderly household upside-down,--whereupon Baron Paul drove Zdena to Komaritz, in the same drag in which the child of six had first been driven thither by him.
More than a dozen years had passed since that afternoon, and yet every detail of the drive was vividly present in the young girl's mind. Much had changed since then; the drag had grown far shabbier, and the fiery chestnuts had been tamed and lamed by time, but the road was just as bad, and the country around as lovely and home-like. From time to time Zdena raised her head to gaze where the stream ran cool and gray on the other side of the walnut-trees that bordered the road, or at the brown ruin of the castle, the jagged tower of which was steadily rising in the blue atmosphere against the distant horizon. And then she would pull her straw hat lower over her eyes and look only at the backs of the horses. Why did her uncle keep glancing at her with such a sly smile? He could not divine the strange mixture of joy and unrest that was filling her soul. No one must know it. Poor Zdena! All night long she had been tormented by the thought that she had yielded too readily, had acceded too willingly to her uncle's proposal to take her to Komaritz during the bustle made by the painters, and she had soothed her scruples by saying to herself, "He will not be there." And, yet, the nearer they came to Komaritz the more persistent was the joyous suggestion within her, "What if he were not yet gone!"
Click-clack! The ancient St. John, whose bead is lying at his feet precisely as it was lying so many years ago, stands gray and tall among the lindens in the pasture near the village; they have reached Komaritz. Click-clack!--the horses make an ambitious effort to end their journey with credit. The same ox, recently butchered, hangs before the butcher-shop on an old walnut; the same odour of wagon-grease and singed hoofs comes from the smithy, and before it the smith is examining the foot of the same horse, while a dozen village children stand around gazing. The same dear old Komaritz!
"If only he might be there!"
With a sudden jolt the drag rolls through the picturesque, ruinous archway of the court-yard. The chestnuts are reined in, the major's sly smile broadens expressively, and Zdena's young pulses throb with breathless delight.
Yes, he is there! standing in the door-way of the old house, an embarrassed smile on his thin, tanned face as he offers his hand to Zdena to help her down from her high seat.
"What a surprise! You here?" exclaims the old dragoon, with poorly-feigned astonishment, in which there is a slight tinge of ridicule. "I thought you would be miles away by this time. It is a good thing that you were able to postpone your departure for a few days. No, I can't stop; I must drive home again immediately. Adieu, children!"