"I do not know, because I did not see his face; I only saw the white mantle and then I awakened; the Lord Jesus sends me pain every night in my feet and I cannot move my hand."
"It is strange that the balm has not helped you any!"
"It cannot help me, _panienko_, because the pain is a punishment for a sin; if you wish to know what the sin was, I will tell you."
Da.n.u.sia nodded her little head in sign that she wished to know; therefore the "sister" continued:
"There are also servants, women, in the Order, who, although they do not make any vows, and are allowed to marry, are obliged to perform certain duties for the Order, according to the brothers" commands. The one who meets such favor and honor, receives a pious kiss from a brother-knight as a sign that from that moment she is to serve the Order with words and deeds. Ah! _panienko_!--I was going to receive that great favor, but in sinful obduracy instead of receiving it with grat.i.tude, I committed a great sin and was punished for it."
"What did you do?"
"Brother Danveld came to me and gave me the kiss of the Order; but I, thinking that he was doing it from pure license, raised my wicked hand against him----"
Here she began to strike her breast and repeated several times:
"G.o.d, be merciful to me, a sinner!"
"What happened then?" asked Da.n.u.sia.
"Immediately my hand became motionless, and from that moment I have been crippled. I was young and stupid--I did not know! But I was punished. If a woman fears that a brother of the Order wishes to do something wicked, she must leave the judgment to G.o.d, but she must not resist herself, because whosoever contradicts the Order or a brother of the Order, that one will feel G.o.d"s anger!"
Da.n.u.sia listened to these words with fright and uneasiness; the sister began to sigh and to complain.
"I am not old yet," said she; "I am only thirty years old, but besides the hand, G.o.d has taken from me my youth and beauty."
"If it were not for the hand," said Da.n.u.sia, "you need not complain."
Then there was silence. Suddenly the sister, as if she had just remembered something, said:
"I dreamed that some knight wrapped you with a white mantle on the snow.
Perhaps it was a Krzyzak! They wear white mantles."
"I want neither Krzyzaks nor their mantles," answered the girl.
But further conversation was interrupted by the _ksiondz_ Wyszoniek, who entering the room, nodded to Da.n.u.sia and said:
"Praise G.o.d and come to Zbyszko! He has awakened and has asked for something to eat. He is much better."
In fact it was so. Zbyszko was a great deal better, and the _ksiondz_ Wyszoniek was almost sure that he would recover, when an unexpected accident upset all his expectations. There came envoys from Jurand with a letter to the princess, containing dreadful news. In Spychow, half of Jurand"s _grodek_ had been burned, and he himself during the rescue was struck by a beam. It is true that the _ksiondz_ Kaleb, who wrote the letter, said that Jurand, would recover, but that the sparks had burned his remaining eye so badly that there was very little sight left in it, and he was likely to become blind.
For that reason, Jurand asked his daughter to come to Spychow as soon as possible, because he wished to see her once more, before he was entirely encompa.s.sed by darkness. He also said that she was to remain with him, because even the blind, begging on the roads, had some one to lead them by the hand and show them the way; why should he be deprived of that pleasure and die among strangers? There were also humble thanks for the princess, who had taken care of the girl like a mother, and finally Jurand promised that, although blind, he would go to Warszawa once more, in order to fall at the lady"s feet and beg her for further favor for Da.n.u.sia.
The princess, when the _ksiondz_ Wyszoniek had finished reading the letter, could not say a word for some time. She had hoped that when Jurand came to see his daughter and her, she would be able by the prince"s and her own influence to obtain his consent for the wedding of the young couple. But this letter, not only destroyed her plans, but in the meanwhile deprived her of Da.n.u.sia whom she loved as well as she did her own children. She feared that Jurand would marry the girl to some neighbor of his, so as to spend the rest of his life among his own people. It was no use to think about Zbyszko--he could not go to Spychow, and then who knew how he would be received there. The lady knew that Jurand had refused to give him Da.n.u.sia; and he had said to the princess herself that on account of some secret reason, he would never consent to their marriage. Therefore in great grief she ordered the princ.i.p.al messenger to be brought to her, as she desired to ask him about the Spychowski misfortune, and also to learn something about Jurand"s plans.
She was very much surprised when a stranger came instead of the old Tolima, who used to bear the shield after Jurand and usually carried his messages; but the stranger told her that Tolima had been seriously injured in the last fight with the Germans and that he was dying in Spychow; Jurand being very ill himself, asked her to send his daughter immediately, because every day he saw less and less, and perhaps in a few days he would become blind. The messenger begged the princess to permit him to take the girl immediately after the horses were rested, but as it was already dusk she refused; especially as she did not wish to distress Zbyszko and Da.n.u.sia by such a sudden separation.
Zbyszko already knew all about it, and he was lying like one stricken by a heavy blow; when the princess entered, and wringing her hands, said from the threshold:
"We cannot help it; he is her father!" he repeated after her like an echo: "We cannot help it----" then closed his eyes, like a man who expects death immediately.
But death did not come; but in his breast there gathered a still greater grief and through his head ran sad thoughts, like the clouds which driven by the wind, obstruct the sun and quench all joy in the world. Zbyszko understood as well as the princess did, that if Da.n.u.sia were once in Spychow, she would be lost to him forever. Here everybody was his friend; there Jurand might even refuse to receive him, or listen to him, especially if he were bound by a vow, or some other unknown reason as strong as a religious vow. Then how could he go to Spychow, when he was sick and hardly able to move in bed. A few days ago, when the prince rewarded him with the golden spurs, he had thought that his joy would conquer his illness, and he had prayed fervently to G.o.d to be permitted to soon rise and fight with the Krzyzaks; but now he had again lost all hope, because he felt that if Da.n.u.sia were not at his bedside, then with her would go his desire for life and the strength to fight with death.
What a pleasure and joy it had been to ask her several times a day: "Do you love me?" and to see how she covered her smiling and bashful eyes, or bent and answered: "Yes, Zbyszko."
But now only illness, loneliness and grief would remain, and the happiness would depart and not return.
Tears shone in Zbyszko"s eyes and rolled slowly down on his cheeks; then he turned to the princess and said:
"Gracious lady, I fear that I shall never see Da.n.u.sia again."
And the lady being sorrowful herself, answered:
"I would not be surprised if you died from grief; but the Lord Jesus is merciful."
After a while, however, wishing to comfort him, she added:
"But if Jurand die first, then the tutelage will be the prince"s and mine, and we will give you the girl immediately."
"He will not die!" answered Zbyszko.
But at once, evidently some new thought came to his mind, because he arose, sat on the bed and said in a changed voice:
"Gracious lady----"
At that moment Da.n.u.sia interrupted him; she came crying and said from the threshold:
"Zbyszku! Do you know about it already! I pity _tatus_, but I pity you also, poor boy!"
When she approached, Zbyszko encircled his love with his well arm, and began to speak:
"How can I live without you, my dearest? I did not travel through rivers and forest, I did not make the vow to serve you, that I might lose you.
Hej! sorrow will not help, crying will not help, bah! even death itself, because even if the gra.s.s grow over me, my soul will not forget you, even if I am in the presence of the Lord Jesus or of G.o.d the Father--I say, there must be a remedy! I feel a terrible pain in my bones, but you must fall at the lady"s feet, I cannot--and ask her to have mercy upon us."
Da.n.u.sia hearing this, ran quickly to the princess" feet, and having seized them in her arms, she hid her face in the folds of the heavy dress; the lady turned her compa.s.sionate but also astonished eyes to Zbyszko, and said:
"How can I show you mercy? If I do not let the child go to her sick father, I will draw G.o.d"s anger on myself."
Zbyszko who had been sitting on the bed, slipped down on the pillows and did not answer for a time because he was exhausted. Slowly, however, he began to move one hand toward the other on his breast until he joined them as in prayer.
"Rest," said the princess; "then you may tell me what you wish; and you, Da.n.u.sia, arise and release my knees."
"Relax, but do not rise; beg with me," said Zbyszko.
Then he began to speak in a feeble and broken voice:
"Gracious lady--Jurand was against me in Krakow--he will be here also, but if the _ksiondz_ Wyszoniek married me to Da.n.u.sia, then--afterward she may go to Spychow because there is no human power that could take her away from me----"
These words were so unexpected to the princess, that she jumped from the bench; then she sat down again and as if she had not thoroughly understood about what he was talking, she said:
"For heaven"s sake! the _ksiondz_ Wyszoniek."