that, though blind, he would visit Warsaw again to fall at the feet of the lady, and implore her favor for Danusia in the future.
When Father Vyshonek read this letter to her, the princess was hardly able to utter a word for some time. She had hoped that when Yurand, who visited his child five or six times every year, came at the approaching holidays, she would, by her authority and that of Prince Yanush, win him over to Zbyshko, and gain his consent to an early wedding. This letter not only destroyed all her plans, but deprived her of Danusia, whom she loved as if she had been her own daughter. It occurred to her also that Yurand might give the girl immediately to one of his neighbors, so as to pass the rest of his days among his own kindred. A visit by Zbyshko to Spyhov was out of the question, for his ribs had only just begun to knit, and besides, who could tell how Yurand would receive him? The princess knew that Yurand had refused him outright, and told her that for mysterious reasons he would never permit the marriage. In her grievous vexation, Princess Anna gave command to summon the elder among the messengers so as to inquire of him touching the misfortune at Spyhov, and learn something of Yurand's plans also.
She was astonished when a man entirely unknown answered her summons, not old Tolima, Yurand's shield-bearer, who came with him usually. The stranger explained that Tolima had been terribly wounded in the last battle with the Germans; that he was wrestling with death in Spyhov; that Yurand, brought down with great pain, begged for the speedy return of his daughter, for he saw less and less, and in a couple of days might be blind altogether. The messenger begged, therefore, earnestly for permission to take the girl the moment his horses had rested, but as it was evening the princess opposed decisively. She would not break the hearts of Zbyshko and Danusia and herself utterly by such a sudden parting.
Zbyshko knew of everything already, and was lying in his room as if struck on the head with the poll of a hatchet; and when the princess entered, wringing her hands and saying at the threshold, "There is no help, for this is a father," he repeated after her, like an echo, "There is no help," and closed his eyes like a man who thinks that death will come to him straightway.
But death did not come, though increasing grief rose in
