the woods! Once I miss thee from the house and I make short work of all thy caterwauling! Just remember that thou hast but a slippery foothold in this house and that we can manage to do without thee. Thy howlings wont make the cottage bloom, and we cannot have thee here to be muffled in cotton wool for the sake of thy singing. Mercy on us! I suppose thou thinkest thyself a cut above all our peasant girls.”
It is possible that many of these words were true, but they were all ill-timed. At that moment it was cruel to scourge hearts already in any case bowed with grief. I have already said that Venik and Krista did not fully understand all they heard; only so much as this, they felt that every word inflicted a wound opon them, and that each wound smarted.
That day, at even, may be by accident, Venik and Krista met at the hollow tree on the hillside. Krista was already there, and Venik came somewhat later.
“I am come to say good bye,” said Krista, and flung herself on the little grave which three years before they had dug for his mother.
“And I am come to say farewell to the hillside and my violin,” said Venik plaintively!
“And I to say adieu to thee, dear Venik,” added Krista. “Ah, heavens! I mustn’t dare to be beside thee any more. I mustn’t dare to sing with thee, they have taken my all. Oh, now I am a poor orphan girl,” and she fell a-weeping.
