“Good Milada,” he said, “you and your good mother have nursed me back to life. I feel already that a totally different occupation must employ my days henceforth. I am not an old man, only twenty-eight, and I have spent ten years atsoldiery. Surely there is room for me around here, and I have resolved to fill such place as I may find. Many brave fellows have fallen. I would rather they were still here, that I might be one with them. Not hatred, nor love of bloodshedding moved me, but the example and influence on a Strong boy of the wild company I was among.
“Milada, I owe my life to you, for I know your care supplied all my wants, although you did not avow it. I will devote my life to you henceforth if you will allow me to do so.”
“When you grow well and strong again we will see how you feel about that,” she said; “perhaps then you will not care about Milada.”
“Thank you for that condition,” replied Sambor; “you will see.”
As Sambor recovered strength, no lack of duties kept his hands idle. Above all other occupations the restoration of the vineyards required the skill of a practised hand. These had been broken down; and now choice vines lay in a tangled mass, a luxuriant growth of wild vegetation. Herein his early training now found congenial application; andtrellis and wall soon gave token of the return of more than former order and precision.
With the sense of contrast between his present
