Page:The Czechoslovak Review, vol3, 1919.djvu/364

 rificed himself for the sake of his parents, sacrificed himself and her.

That old, bent tree in the depth of the grove did not expect that it could lure anybody to itself to-day.

Nevertheless, it did.

Lenka, having left the noisy company, was looking for Miss Elis, of whom Vavřena had told her immediately after greeting Mrs. Roubínek. Thus by chance she penetrated far into the shady solitude and halted; the spot charmed her fancy.

It was a long time since she had been in the woods and she loved woods passionately. She had spent her youth in a county rich in forests; as a child, she had roamed about the nearby groves in unrestricted freedom, or had taken walks there with her uncle. And now she again breathed the gentle, pleasant aroma of the grove. She did not hurry away. More than that, her quick eye detected something which was a still greater inducement for her to stay. A little above the ground, a mighty branch was growing out of the old, mossy trunk, and in the nook which it made with the trunk, a bird’s nest was snugly built.

At this moment the philosopher Vavřena had also found solitude, or rather that which he sought in solitude. Stepping out of a thicket, he beheld Lenka in a light blue dress, looking intently up into the old tree. She raised herself on tiptoes and looked and looked.

How slender and fresh she was, how charmingly that vivid blush became her! She stole noiselessly toward the tree, and then suddenly stopped and turned around. The blush on her cheek grew darker, but with her small finger she commanded Vavřena to be silent. He approached and halted beside her, and both gazed at the bird’s nest.

“Do you see?” whispered Lenka.

“I do not.”

“Look there, do you see that bill, the small head, and those little black eyes?”

“Yes, yes, I see now,” and he peered intently at the bird whose head protruded over the edge of the nest. For a while they stood close to each other. Vavřena felt the blood throbbing in his veins and rushing to his face. In the stillness it was a wonder that the rapturous voice of their throbbing hearts did not become audible.

The philosopher turned his head away from the nest. His gaze met Lenka’s, and as he looked, emotion surged through his heart. Her bright, moist eyes, her face, her fresh lips, all smiled at him, beaming with a quiet, ardent happiness.

“Let us go that we might not disturb the bird!” she whispered. He obeyed and they started away hand in hand like children. They went silently along the grassy, narrow path among the bushes and trees. Sunshine and pleasant shadows played hide and seek there; from the direction of the slope sounds of music floated toward them on the breeze.

Presently Lenka drew her hand from the philosopher’s, and looked straight ahead, where a lady in an old-fashioned, large hat, shawl, and long gloves stood before them.

“Oh, Miss Elis!” Vavřena exclaimed.

Soon all were good friends. Not far from the place where they stood, under and old beech tree, was a plain bench, on which they seated themselves.

Miss Elis and Lenka soon became acquainted. The good old lady told the young girl how long she had wished to speak with her, that she did not go anywhere, but that she came purposely to the grove today to meet her. She explained that it was mainly on account of the Almanac which she found at Vavřena!

“Those verses were written by your uncle?” she asked, and cast her eyes down.

“Yes, my uncle wrote them.”

All were silent and that moment the band began to play. Vavřena gave a start, then listened attentively. His faseface [sic] saddened.

“Oh, the quadrille! And I was engaged to dance it with Miss Lotty.”

“You must go immediately, but hurry!” admonished Miss Elis.

“Oh, how I hate to! Will you stay here, so that I can find you again?”

“If Miss Lenka wishes to.”

“With pleasure,” and she smiled at the young philosopher, who, bowing, disappeared behind the shrubbery.

“I knew you also,” Lenka began in a few moments somewhat hesitatingly.

“Before this time? When you were with your uncle?” asked Miss Elis.

“Yes, he had an embroidered picture from you—was it not so?”

“Faith, Hope, and Love, yes,” replied Miss Elis, and sighed.

“Yes, and he held it in very great honor; I found your name and date in the corner or the picture—and I presumed that it must be some very dear keepsake; and then—then I found a letter from you in a Bohemian book, “The Daughter of Slavia”.

At that moment, for the woman and the girl, there was no present. Miss Elis and Lenka turned to the past. Lenka had to talk about the good uncle. Miss Elis’ hands were clasped in her lap, she sighed often, and peered into the fresh face of her girl companion.

Then her heart opened and released the sweet and painful secret which for so many years she had guarded from all. As she began to confide in the young girl, her unburdened soul poured out trustfully and sincerely; she spoke to somebody who also loved above everything else the one who was to her the dearest on earth.