"For God's sake, stop!" he cried, with the voice of horror; "you shall never see me again."
But it was too late. He saw the white figure sink, and rise again mid-stream. He was in after her, and reaching her, caught her by a tress of her floating hair. She struggled violently to free herself from his hand, and it could only have been the maddest despair that gave her the power. But he kept fast his hold--it was all he could do; and thus they were carried awhile, side by side, on the bosom of the icy mountain stream. Taras felt his grasp grow weaker in his two-fold struggle against the river and against the girl. A fearful picture flashed through his brain; he saw himself and his loved one two corpses washed ashore, old Stephen bending over them in sorrow. The pangs of death seemed upon him, but he held fast the tress of hair, and with his arm strove to keep himself and her afloat.
She yielded at last, her body floating as he pulled her; the power of life seemed to have left her, and with a mighty effort he brought her to land.
They were fearful days that followed. A burning fever ran its course in the girl's body, but the sickness of her soul seemed more devouring still. "I am dying--dying for shame!" she kept crying. "I love him--I hate him!" But as the fever spent itself, the struggle of her heart grew weaker. And at last she lay still, weary unto death, but saved, and her mind was clear. She wept blessed tears, and suffered him to touch her.
She suffered it, but did not return his caresses. "Taras!" she sobbed, "do you despise me?"
"Despise you? Good God!" he cried, covering her hand with kisses.
"Ah, yes--but you might--you ought!" she wept. "No only, because----," a burning blush overspread her pallor. "But do you know why I struggled so desperately when your hand was upon me in the river? I knew you would hold fast, and I wanted to drag you down with me in death. Can you forgive it?"
"As sure as you wish your mother to be at peace in her grave?"
"Then I may kiss you," she said, twining her arms about him.
That was their troth plight; and soon after they were married.
Thus the stranger had become the owner of the largest farm but one in the village. Yet no one grudged him his good fortune; even Harasim appeared to have submitted to his fate. And but rarely was there an attempt at making fun of his garb; he had acquired their mode of address, saying "thou" to young and old, but he could not be prevailed upon to adopt the Huzul's dress. But no one disliked him for it, the people had ample proof apart from this how faithfully he had adopted the interests of his new home, and even if they did not openly confess as much to themselves it was very evident he was benefiting them largely. Without in the least thrusting himself upon them, or pushing his views, this blue-eyed, quiet stranger in the course of a few years had become the most influential man, even a reformer of the parish; in the first place because of his ever helpful goodness, in the second place because of the rare wisdom governing his every act.