Lenka’s uncle, priest George, was born in Litomyšl, and was a distant relative of Miss Elis, to whom he was devoted from the time he was a student at the philosophical school. The young girl was sincerely attached to him. Thus for a time they were happy in their true but secret love.
“But his mother, your grandmother, was very pious, and had pledged her son, while he yet was a child, to the priestly office,” continued Miss Elis, when all the antecedents had been explained.
“When he was in physics, he expressed himself as unwilling to become a priest. But there upon his mother begged him and wept, and when he remained firm, she grieved so deeply that she fell into a serious illness. She sorrowed because she could not keep her vow. Even the old father entreated him, begged him, prayed him, even fell on his knees before his son—so then—. After the vacation he was to go to the seminary. Before he went, he asked for permission to speak to me. We met in the grove, not far from here—and here we bid each other good bye forever.”
Miss Elis stopped; kind, blue eyes grew dim.
“And you never met him again?” Lenka asked gently.
“Oh yes. Your grandmother regained her health. On the day of St. John of Nepomuk she went to Prague with the grandfather to visit George. They invited me also. I wished to avoid this meeting, and again I longed for it, but I could not refuse; our folks urged me. When we arrived at Prague, there were so many people that in the crowd and the noise I was separated from your grandfather. I wandered aimlessly through the noisy streets. Then I met an old gentleman in high boots who looked just like our dean. He also was a priest. I went to him, kissed his hand, and begged him to tell me where the seminary was. I thought that there I should find them all. He smiled at me kindly: “Do you have a brother there?” he asked, and I—God knows how I felt. He took me to a large, dark building. “Go through that gate, then across the yard to the left, and beyond the second yard is the seminary. Ask the gate keeper there.” I thanked him and went. It was late in the afternoon. Among those dismal buildings it was already dusky, and not a living soul there. I came to the last yard, and there a little distance before me a young priest of George’s appearance was coming. When I saw that black cassock of his, I felt a sharp pain in my heart. “He also wears such a one as this!” I thought to myself, and tears filled my eyes. My God, my God! I shall never forget—he came nearer—my knees failed me—it was he—George! But so changed, pale, and thin! When I saw him I cried for pity, and forgot vbere I was. I grasped his hand as if he wanted to flee from me. He stooped over me, comforted me—the poor man—and his voice shook. Then his parents came. It was well that darkness spread over all already; and then, with the joy over their son, the future priest, they did not notice, how tear-stained I was. We stayed in Prague two days, and he took us everywhere. But I saw nothing; I could tell the folks at home nothing.”
And here Miss Elis stopped again.
A pleasant breeze, sweeping through the shrubbery and the trees, carried to them snatches of music from the pavilion. “He came home for vacation,” Miss Elis continued after a while, “but then I hardly ever spoke with him. I avoided him for his own sake, although it was extremely hard. And nobody knew a thing, nobody suspected anything. Before he was ordained, he wrote me a letter, and sent me a leaf for the album. In fact, that writing helped me the most to recognize his handwriting, that writing in the Almanac. Then he had a magnificent ordination in the dean’s church. I also attended that people should not wonder why I did not go, but when he stepped to the altar in the chasuble, a fainting spell came over me and I had to leave. Then I became sick. Oh, how gladly I would have died then!”
Both were silent. The old lady felt relieved and still it was painful; yet she eased her heart by confiding in a good and sensitive soul.
“It is past, I have lived through it,” she resumed after a pause, and on her lips appeared a melancholy smile. “And to you, dear Lenka, it will never happen!” she added. The girl looked at her inquiringly, but cast her eyes down when she saw Vavřena quickly approaching.
“He will never be a priest!” whispered Miss Elis.
“Why, is the quadrille over? What is it, Mr. Vavřena? They are still playing?”
“Oh, a misfortune, Miss Elis! I hastened from here like a deer that I might come in time. And I would have been on time, if the unfortunate Mrs. Roller had not come in my way. You know her manner; she stopped me and began a conversation. I tore myself away from her with an apology, and ran to the hall. When I came there, it was already too late. Dancing was on, and Miss Lotty was sitting aside with her mother.
“Good heavens, Mr. Vavřena!” cried Miss Elis.
“What a storm that will cause!” sighed Lenka.
“It has caused already. I went to them and apologized. Lottynka sat still and looked angry, did not even look at me, and Mrs. Roubínek sharply rebuffed me.”
“I should imagine! Try to make it right again, it might hurt you!” warned Miss Elis.
“I delayed you!” and Lenka looked anxiously at the philosopher, who, however, made a determined motion with his hand and smilingly replied:
“It is done! fear nothing. With your kind per-
