And she repeated,—
"Sweet flowers."
"We are at a meadow," answered he, "but soon we shall go to thy father, who is freed from captivity also. And thou wilt be mine till death. Dost hear me well, dost understand?"
With that, great alarm racked him, for he noted that her face was growing paler, and that small drops of sweat were coming out on it thickly.
"What is the matter?" asked he, in desperate fear.
He felt the hair rising on his head, and cold passing through his bones.
"What troubles thee? Tell!" repeated he.
"Darkness!" whispered she.
"Darkness? The sun is shining, and does it seem dark to thee?" asked he, with panting voice. "Just now thou wert speaking reasonably. In God's name, say one word even!"
She moved her lips again, but could not even whisper. Zbyshko divined only that she was uttering his name, that she was calling him. Immediately after that her emaciated hands began to tremble, and hop on the rug with which she was covered. That lasted a moment. There was no cause for mistake then—she was dying!
But terrified and in despair, Zbyshko fell to imploring her, as if a prayer could do anything,—
"Danusia! O merciful Jesus!—Wait even to Spyhov! Wait! wait! O Jesus! Jesus! O Jesus!"
While he implored thus the women woke, and the attendants ran up; they had been at a distance near the horses in the meadow. But understanding with the first cast of the eye what was happening, they knelt and began to repeat aloud the Litany.
The breeze stopped, the leaves ceased to rustle on the pear-tree, and only words of prayer were heard amid the great silence of the meadow.
Danusia, before the very end of the Litany, opened her eyes once more, as if wishing to look for the last time on Zbyshko and the world of the sun; next moment she dropped into the sleep of eternity.
The women closed her eyelids and then went to the meadow for flowers. The attendants followed; and they moved in sunshine, among abundant grass, like spirits of the field, bending down from moment to moment and weeping,
