A fresh breeze had risen which stirred the tops of the aspens. The purple light on the horizon beyond the ramparts grew faint. During the whole drive my father remained sunk in prostration; his hands, which I stroked, were moist; now burning, now icy. He roused himself from this painful torpor only to slip his hand through my hair, and to smile at me as never friend has smiled since.
Yana too looked sad now, and pretended that it was the dust which caused her to wipe her eyes continually with her handkerchief.
I was tired, overcome with so much open air, but I could not fall asleep that night. I dreamed with open eyes of the events of the day, of the farm, of good-natured Jan, of the happy meal, of the kid, of the coming day when I should be "boer Jorss," as the kind fellow said.... I was happy, but from time to time a fit of terrible coughing from the next room stifled me, and then I recalled the scene in the garden, our silence against the jarring sound of the organ, and later these two words "Mon Repos." I did not close my eyes until the morning.
When I awoke, my uncle was already waiting for me. He was an old officer and adhered to military time only.
"We must be off!" he said in his gruff, harsh voice. "You must go back to work, my lad."
Must I go away again? Why this week's separation? What did my uncle's authoritative tone mean in my father's house, in our house? Why did Yana look at him respectfully but sullenly? I did not guess the horrible but absolute necessity for this intrusion; it exasperated me.
What a bitter leave-taking! And that, too, for a week's separation only. It was in vain that my uncle made fun of our tears. I clung to my beloved father, and he had not the strength to repel me. The impatient officer tore me at last from his embrace.
"The train does not wait!" he grumbled. "Were there ever such chicken-hearted people!"
I was indignant.
"No, not at parting from you," I said to my unsympathetic relation,... "but from him!"