dressed in her new white dress, but even her face was dressed in a new dress: it was paler than ever before. Betuska long held Uncle John by the hand, and begged him in a voice almost painful to hear, to forgive her if she had ever wronged him in anything, “For,” she said, “I am going to church to-day, and would gladly be reconciled with all.”
These words struck Uncle John to the heart, but he felt himself happy beyond measure.
Then she said that she would wait for him in the evening so he must return pretty early. And when they had bade one another adieu, Betuska looked long after him, until he vanished behind the nearest hillock.
The whole afternoon she waited at a spot on the road to Brizoff. Already early the shades of evening settled over the fish pond, while she waited for uncle. The stars came out and the moon rose, and uncle yet came not. Betuska knelt on the bank, looked up to a firmanent full of light and beauty, looked down to the waters in which all that beauty and all that light were reflected; she yearned for that beauty and prayed for her lover.
Her parents already missed her from home, and went to seek her. They found her, but Betuska belonged no more either to them or to herself. The waves on the margin of the pool frolicked with her dress, raven locks emerged for a moment above the glimmering water, her white hands were clasped in prayer, the beautiful mouth breathed no more.
