She looked straight before her.
“He has sent me away—and you will go with me!”
She did not seem to hear him.
“Down there, somewhere in Carniola, they are building a railway; we can easily find work there.”
She shook her head slowly.
“You won’t, Resi? And see, one more thing. I have been told that soldiers who have served their time and have gone through the war may claim a position as watchman on a railway track. I shall send in a petition, and perhaps if I succeed we shall have one of those little houses by the tracks and live in it as husband and wife. And even if that should fail,” he added quickly—for she had not yet given a sign of consent, only kept on weeping more than ever—“well, then, we shall have to submit and work hard for a few years and save as much as possible. But just say one word, Resi!”
“Oh,” she moaned, “what you say is all beautiful and right, but you forget that the man will never let me go!”
“He must let you go. You are no longer a child. You don’t belong to him. You are a laborer here, like all the rest of them, and can go when and wherever you please!”
“Believe me, George, he will not let me go; never, and certainly not with you. I have not spoken about it before”—the red blood colored her face deeply—“but I must tell you now. Even when my mother was still living, he pursued me with his hateful caresses; I threatened to tell my mother, and he kept away for a time. But last summer he left the others at the inn one evening and came home alone; he tried to make love to me and promised to marry me. But I told him what I thought of him, and now he hates me and tries to get his revenge wherever he can.”
George grew pale to the lips and the breath struggled in his breast. “The scoundrel!” he panted. “And to think of your staying here with him! Never! You go with me, and I would like to know how he can prevent it!”