was that he would never find such a soul again. His voice shook as he thanked her for all she had done.
Miss Elis shed not a few tears, and requested him to remember her sometime with a letter. When he stepped out of the room, he stopped as if thunderstruck. It was early in the morning, yet Márinka already dressed, fresh as a rose, stood in the hallway near the stairs, as if she were waiting for him. He stepped to her, but could not speak. His throat contracted, but his eyes spoke. Then he heard her pleasant voice, which so often had sent a tremor through his heart
“You would not even give me ‘good bye’, Mr. Špína. Live in happiness, and remember us!”
He felt as if the dark hall way brightened. On his lips there appeared a smile. He said something confused, from which only ‘Be happy! Good bye!’ was intelligible.
This surprising meeting, the last joy and the last sorrow, was arranged by Miss Elis. He did not recover from the surprise until he was out of the city. His bag in his left hand, a stick in his right, he walked the highway toward Vysoké Mýto. There, where the ridge rose to the highest point, he stopped by an old poplar tree beside the highway. Te philosopher gazed for the last time on the country and city, where he had spent his youth. It was a bright, August morning. Oh, how beautiful and pleasant it was here! The dale of Nedošín, the meadows, the grove—everyhing so vigorous and fresh! From the green foliage, the city houses stood out as if in a garden. There the beautiful castle in the park, nearby that unfortunate college, down there the city hall tower, and facing it the old fashioned house with a bay window, and there. . .
He gazed at all this for the last time, and was taking his leave from these loved spots for ever; at the same time he was bidding good bye to his youth, and his liberty.
Oh, ye student years! Times of joy and cares, times of intense study, of fear and dread of examinations, times of earning one’s livelihood by giving tiresome lessons and by incessant teaching, of fresh mind, strong powers; times of privation, even hunger, and still rich in rosy dreams full of hopes and plans; days of liberty, friendship, first verses, and the first love! Oh, who would gladly part with you, who would not remember you fondly in the oppression and coldness of the serious battle of life, full of adversity and disappointment!
CHAPTER IX.
Miss Elis, the benefactress of the young lovers, had her rooms converted into a branch of the post office.
The letter carrier almost always brought her at least one letter when the post chaise arrived; but she hardly ever opened the envelope. She examined it carefully, and seeing this or that sign, hid it in her prayer-book in the dresser. Usually, as soon as the letter carrier left, Márinka immediately rushed into the room, and eagerly inquired:
“Something for me?”
How her face brightened when Miss Elis smilingly replied:
“This one is from Moravia.”
Sometimes, by chance, two letters came, and then Miss Elis decided:
“This one is yours; that one belongs to the castle chapel.”
Márinka delivered it to Lenka whom she met there every Sunday.
“Well, what does he write?” Miss Elis would ask when the young maiden had glanced over the letter.
“Many regards and thanks to you, and that he consoles himself with the hopes of an early return.”
“I believe it, I believe it; and you also, Miss Márinka, isn’t it so?”
Frýbort wrote only twice, directly to Miss Elis. Vavřena a few times more. But Zelenka did not write at all, and Špína also did not send a single word.
“What could the poor fellow write about, but of misfortune,” said Miss Elis, when Márinka once mentioned him.
Thus day after day the vacation was passing; for the students at home quickly, by leaps; for the girls at Litomyšl it dragged slowly.
Since the celebration of the “majales”, Lenka’s position became still more galling. Lottynka acted as if she were not her relative, her aunt became still more severe, and her uncle, who in household matters was ruled by his wife, gave the orphan no protection. Lenka worked, cared for the whole household, and yet she could not satisfy them. Even the neighbors noticed it at last, and rumors went around how ill the registrar’s family was treating the industrious young girl. They blamed Mrs. Roubínek severely that she kept her niece always at home like a Cinderella, did not take her out anywhere, and begrudged her all amusement.
But in that respect they were mistaken. Lenka felt freer when she was alone. Then she could read her Bohemian books and Vavřena’s letters, then she could freely indulge her dreams and hopes.
Since the vacation began, her lot was improved in that she was permitted to go out oftener. Sunday mornings she was in the habit of attending the castle chapel; sometimes in the afternoons she went to the park and at other times to the cemetery, to visit the graves of her parents. Her only and best companion was Márinka, who, besides letters, sometimes brought her an invitation to visit Miss Elis. The third Sunday of vacation she met her elderly friend at the cemetery, from whence she accompanied
