When in the course of two weeks the young men accompanied by their father
came to repeat their visit, Evelyn received them with a certain coolness.
But she found it hard to resist the charming animation of youth. All day
long the young men roamed about the village, hunting and taking notes of
the songs of the reapers; and in the evening they assembled as before
around the bench, near the mansion.
On one of these evenings, before Evelyn realized the fact, the
conversation had turned to subjects of a somewhat personal character.
Neither could the others have told how this had come about; it had been
as imperceptible as the fading of the evening twilight, or the falling
of the shadows in the garden,—as imperceptible as the first notes
of the nightingale’s song among the bushes. The young student spoke
passionately, with a proud air of triumph, and with all that ardor
peculiar to youth, which regardless of selfish calculations rushes to
meet the unknown future. There was a strange fascination in this ardent
faith, and something also akin to the indomitable power of a challenge.
The young girl blushed, for she felt that this challenge was perhaps
unconsciously directed at her. She bent low over her work as she
listened. Her eyes sparkled, her face flushed, her heart throbbed. The
light faded from her eyes, her face grew pale, she compressed her lips;
while her heart continued to beat still more violently, and a look of
alarm came over her features. She was frightened, for under the influence
of this student’s words, the dark garden wall seemed to part before her
eyes, and through the opening she saw the far-away vista of a vast world
full of life and activity. She was startled. It seemed to her that some
one was about to pluck the knife from out her former wound.
This however was of short duration. Evelyn could control her own life;
of that she was well aware. She had arrived at a decision in regard to
her future life, and this decision was to be final; she had deliberated
long concerning her first step in life, and proposed to act in accordance
with her plan. This being accomplished, she would try to make the most of
life. She turned her deep blue eyes from the student and looked toward
the spot where Peter had been sitting. But he was no longer there.
Then quietly folding her work Evelyn rose also. “Excuse me, gentlemen,”
she said, addressing the guests, “if I leave you to yourselves for a
while.” And she started along the garden-path.
Evelyn was not the only person who had felt disturbed this evening. At
the turn of the path, where the settle had been placed, the young girl
heard the agitated voices of Maxim and his sister.
“Yes, I thought of her in this connection no less than I did of him,” the
old man was saying; and his tone was harsh. “I cannot believe that you
wish to take advantage of the ignorance of a mere child.”
Tears were in the voice of Anna Michàilovna as she replied, “But Max,
what if—if she—What will become of my boy?”
Maxim had no time to reply. The young girl who had paused instinctively
at the turning, now quickly advanced, and with proudly erect head walked
past the speakers. Maxim involuntarily drew up his crutch that it might
not be in her way, and Anna Michàilovna looked at her with an expression
of love, mingled with adoration almost amounting to awe. The mother
seemed conscious that this fair proud girl, who had just passed by with a
look so angry and defiant, held in her hands the happiness or unhappiness
of her son.