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 depressed, and more ready to work energetically for the employer’s profit.

Greatest of all was the relief to Cvok and spinster Naninka. There was no fear now for Pepíc̓ek; no necessity for removing him from the house. The castle doctor was unboundedly trusted by Father Cvok, and he had told him that there was no more idea that the old baroness could ever recover again than that “tiles could be burnt of snow.” The same opinion was held by the experienced farm-manager Rambousek, who said, “If you brought herbs to her from nine mountains, it would do no good; the baroness will remain a cripple, and never hear the cuckoo again till the day of her death.”

In the priest’s house at Záluz̓í life went on as monotonously as clock-work. Pepíc̓ek throve to their hearts content, and Heavens and his housekeeper all but ate him up with love.

“I do not doubt,” said Cvok one day,

“that after his mother’s death Baron Mundy will make Jenny his lawful wife—but you have always something to say against it, he added, seeing Naninka shake her head.

“I am a woman, you see, your reverence, and I just think as a woman. From that letter that came with Pepíc̓ek, I don’t think it will go as smoothly as you imagine. Please fetch that letter, sir, and read to me what there is in it about the young baron.”

Heavens humoured her, and read the letter.

“Do you see—do you see,” Naninka said, growing warm, “she does not merely say that she cast off Mundy for ever, and threw the money he offered her at his feet, she says that she showed him the door, that he might not desecrate her child by even a look. That is very much for a woman to say, your reverence; and surely it