But Betuska now apparently meant to have her own way. She said she could never bear to await Sunday for she would not dare to be looking in the direction of the place whither uncle had to go.
Uncle John now slightly hesitated, for he was afraid of occasioning her superfluous anxiety. He already consoled himself in fancy by picturing how on his return he would communicate his message to her, and tell her how he meant very soon to take her home with him to his own farm, with the words, “You see, in this farm, you are mistress, and my wife. I am merely going for a walk to Brizoff,” he said, and as if to make up for his reticence, he added, “I must do it to please my father.”
Betuska had heard enough: more she did not wish to know. All the blood in her body crowded to her heart, and in that heart resounded something like the tolling of a funeral bell. But she never let it appear. And this was the fault, just as though she thought that Uncle John had not been perfectly sincere with her. She smiled, but her lips trembled. She would perhaps have soonest burst out crying, but already tears refused to flow. But she concealed it all in the presence of Uncle John. While he conducted her home she jested, and when he gave her a kiss at parting she returned it as warmly as if she wished to empty all her store of affection, and had no more cause to think of a future day.
Just as they separated she said almost jestingly that she wished him success at Brizoff.
Sunday came and Uncle John set off to go to Brizoff just at the same time when people were setting out for church. Thus among others he met Betuska, who was
