A detachment of Cheremis, some twenty in number, marched five
miles in advance to examine the road and notify commandants of
Pani Volodyovski’s journey, so that quarters might be ready for
her in each place. After this detachment came the main force of
the Lithuanian Tartars, the sleigh with Basia and Eva, and another
sleigh with servant-women; a small detachment closed the march.
The road was heavy enough because of snowdrifts. Pine woods,
which in winter do not lose their needle-like leaves, permit less
snow to fall to the earth; but that forest along the bank of the
Dniester, formed for the most part of oaks and other deciduous
trees, stripped now of their natural covering, was packed halfway
to the lower branches with snow. Snow had filled also the narrowest
ravines; in places it had been lifted into waves whose curling
summits seemed as if ready to tumble in an instant and be lost in
the general white expanse. During the passage of difficult ravines
and declivities the Tartars held the sleighs back with ropes; only
on the lofty plains, where the wind had smoothed the snow surface,
did they drive quickly in the track of the caravan, which with
Naviragh and the two learned Anardrats had started earlier from
Hreptyoff.
Travelling was difficult; not so difficult, however, as sometimes
in those wild regions full of chasms, rivers, streams, and gullies.
The ladies were rejoiced, therefore, that before deep night came
they would be able to reach the precipitous ravine in the bottom
of which stood Mohiloff; besides, there was promise of continued
fair weather. After a ruddy dawn the sun rose, and all at once the
plains, the ravines, and the forests were gleaming in its rays; the
branches of the trees seemed coated with sparks; sparks glittered
on the snow till the eyes ached from the brightness. From high
points one could see out through open spaces, as through windows in
that wilderness, the gaze reaching down to Moldavia was lost on a
horizon white and blue, but flooded with sunlight.
The air was dry and sharp. In such an atmosphere men as well as
beasts feel strength and health; in the ranks the horses snorted
greatly, throwing rolls of steam from their nostrils; and the
Tartars, though the frost so pinched their legs that they drew them
under their skirts continually, sang joyful songs.
At last the sun rose to the very summit of the pavilion of the
sky, and warmed the world somewhat. It was too hot for Basia and
Eva under the fur in the sleigh. They loosened the covering on
their heads, pushed back their hoods, showed their rosy faces to
the light, and began to look around,--Basia on the country, and
Eva searching for Azya. He was not near the sleigh; he was riding
in advance with that detachment of Cheremis who were examining the
road, and clearing away snow when necessary. Eva frowned because of
this; but Basia, knowing military service through and through, said
to console her:--
“They are all that way; when there is service, it is service. My
Michael will not even look at me when military duty comes; and it
would be ill were it otherwise, for if you are to love a soldier,
let him be a good one.”
“But will he be with us at the resting-place?” asked Eva.
“See lest you have too much of him. Did you not notice how joyful
he was when we started? Light was beaming from him.”
“I saw that he was very glad.”
“But what will he be when he receives permission from your father?”
“Oi, what is in waiting for me? The will of God be done! though
the heart dies in me when I think of father. If he shouts, if he
becomes wilful and refuses permission, I shall have a fine life
when I go home.”
“Do you know, Eva, what I think?”
“What is it?”
“There is no trifling with Azya. Your brother might oppose with his
force; but your father has no command. I think that if your father
resists, Azya will take you anyhow.”
“How is that?”
“Why, carry you off simply. There is no trifling with him, people
say,--Tugai Bey’s blood. You will be married by the first priest
on the road. In another place it would be necessary to have banns,
certificates, license; but here it is a wild country, all things
are a little in Tartar fashion.”
Eva’s face brightened. “This is what I dread. Azya is ready for
anything; this is what I dread,” said she.
But Basia, turning her head, looked at her quickly, and burst out
suddenly with her resonant, childlike laugh.
“You dread that just as a mouse dreads bacon. Oh, I know you!”
Eva, flushed already from the cold air, flushed still more, and
said:--
“I should fear my father’s curse, and I know that Azya is ready to
disregard everything.”
“Be of good courage,” answered Basia, “besides me, you have your
brother to help you. True love always comes to its own. Pan Zagloba
told me that when Michael wasn’t even dreaming of me.”
Conversation once begun, they vied with each other in talking,--one
about Azya, the other about Michael. Thus a couple of hours passed,
till the caravan halted for the first refreshment at Yaryshoff. Of
a hamlet, wretched enough at all times, there remained, after the
peasant incursion, only one public house, which was restored from
the time that the frequent passage of soldiers began to promise
certain profit. Basia and Eva found in it a passing Armenian
merchant of Mohiloff origin, who was taking morocco to Kamenyets.
Azya wished to hurl him out of doors with the Wallachians and
Tartars who were with him; but the women permitted him to remain,
only his guard had to withdraw. When the merchant learned that the
travelling lady was Pani Volodyovski, he began to bow down before
her and praise her husband to the skies. Basia listened to the
man with great delight. At last he went to his packs, and when he
returned offered her a package of special sweetmeats and a little
box full of odorous Turkish herbs good for various ailments.
“I bring this through gratitude,” said he. “Till now we have not
dared to thrust our heads out of Mohiloff, because Azba Bey ravaged
so terribly, and so many robbers infested on this side all the
ravines and on the Moldavian bank the meadows; but now the road is
safe, and trading secure. Now we travel again. May God increase the
days of the commandant of Hreptyoff, and make each day long enough
for a journey from Mohiloff to Kamenyets, and let every hour be
extended so as to seem a day! Our commandant, the field secretary,
prefers to sit in Warsaw; but the commandant of Hreptyoff watched,
and swept out the robbers, so that death is dearer to them now than
the Dniester.”
“Then is Pan Revuski not in Mohiloff?” asked Basia.
“He only brought the troops; I do not know if he remained three
days. Permit, your great mightiness, here are raisins in this
packet, and at this edge of it fruit such as is not found even in
Turkey; it comes from distant Asia, and grows there on palms. The
secretary is not in the town; but now there is no cavalry at all,
for yesterday they went on a sudden toward Bratslav. But here are
dates; may they be to the health of your great mightiness! Only Pan
Gorzenski has remained with infantry.”
“It is a wonder to me that all the cavalry have gone,” said Basia,
with an inquiring glance at Azya.
“They moved so the horses might not get out of training,” answered
Azya, calmly.
“In the town, people say that Doroshenko advanced unexpectedly,”
said the merchant.
Azya laughed. “But with what will he feed his horses, with snow?”
said he to Basia.
“Pan Gorzenski will explain best to your great mightiness,” added
the merchant.
“I do not believe that it is anything,” said Basia, after a
moment’s thought; “for if it were, my husband would be the first to
know.”
“Without doubt the news would be first in Hreptyoff,” said Azya;
“let your grace have no fear.”
Basia raised her bright face to the Tartar, and her nostrils
quivered.
“I have fear! That is excellent; what is in your head? Do you hear,
Eva?--I have fear!”
Eva could not answer; for being by nature fond of dainties, and
loving sweets beyond measure, she had her mouth full of dates,
which did not prevent her, however, from looking eagerly at Azya;
but when she had swallowed the fruit, she said,--
“Neither have I any fear with such an officer.”
Then she looked tenderly and significantly into the eyes of
young Tugai Bey; but from the time that she had begun to be an
obstacle, he felt for her only secret repulsion and anger. He stood
motionless, therefore, and said with downcast eyes,--
“In Rashkoff it will be seen if I deserve confidence.”
And there was in his voice something almost terrible; but as
the two women knew so well that the young Tartar was thoroughly
different in word and deed from other men, this did not rouse
their attention. Besides, Azya insisted at once on continuing
the journey, because the mountains before Mohiloff were abrupt,
difficult of passage, and should be crossed during daylight.
They started without delay, and advanced very quickly till they
reached those mountains. Basia wished then to sit on her horse;
but at Azya’s persuasion she stayed with Eva in the sleigh, which
was steadied with lariats, and let down from the height with the
greatest precaution. All this time Azya walked near the sleigh;
but occupied altogether with their safety, and in general with the
command, he spoke scarcely a word either to Basia or Eva. The sun
went down, however, before they succeeded in passing the mountains;
but the detachment of Cheremis, marching in advance, made fires
of dry branches. They went down then among the ruddy fires and
the wild figures standing near them. Beyond those figures were,
in the gloom of the night and in the half-light of the flames,
the threatening declivities in uncertain, terrible outlines. All
this was new, curious; all had the appearance of some kind of
dangerous and mysterious expedition,--wherefore Basia’s soul was
in the seventh heaven, and her heart rose in gratitude to her
husband for letting her go on this journey to unknown regions, and
to Azya because he had been able to manage the journey so well.
Basia understood now, for the first time, the meaning of those
military marches of which she had heard so much from soldiers, and
what precipitous and winding roads were. A mad joyousness took
possession of her. She would have mounted her pony assuredly, were
it not that, sitting near Eva, she could talk with her and terrify
her. Therefore when moving in a narrow, short turn the detachment
in advance vanished from the eye and began to shout with wild
voices, the stifled echo of which resounded among overhanging
cliffs, Basia turned to Eva, and seizing her hands, cried,--
“Oh, ho! robbers from the meadows, or the horde!”
But Eva, when she remembered Azya, the son of Tugai Bey, was calm
in a moment.
“The robbers in the horde respect and fear Azya,” answered she. And
later, bending to Basia’s ear, she said, “Even to Belgrod, even to
the Crimea, if with him!”
The moon had risen high in heaven when they were issuing from the
mountains. Then they beheld far down, and, as it were, at the
bottom of a precipice, a collection of lights.
“Mohiloff is under our feet,” said a voice behind Basia and Eva.
They looked around; it was Azya standing behind the sleigh.
“But does the town lie like that at the bottom of the ravine?”
asked Basia.
“It does. The mountains shield it completely from winter winds,”
answered Azya, pushing his head between their heads. “Notice, your
grace, that there is another climate here; it is warmer and calmer.
Spring comes here ten days earlier than on the other side of the
mountains, and the trees put forth their leaves sooner. That gray
on the slopes is a vineyard; but the ground is under snow yet.”
Snow was lying everywhere, but really the air was warmer and
calmer. In proportion as they descended slowly toward the valley,
lights showed themselves one after another, and increased in number
every moment.
“A respectable place, and rather large,” said Eva.
“It is because the Tartars did not burn it at the time of the
peasant incursion. The Cossack troops wintered here, and Poles have
scarcely ever visited the place.”
“Who live here?”
“Tartars, who have their wooden mosque; for in the Commonwealth
every man is free to profess his own faith. Wallachians live here,
also Armenians and Greeks.”
“I have seen Greeks once in Kamenyets,” said Basia; “for though
they live far away, they go everywhere for commerce.”
“This town is composed differently from all others,” said Azya;
“many people of various nations come here to trade. That settlement
which we see at a distance on one side is called Serby.”
“We are entering already,” said Basia.
They were, in fact, entering. A strange odor of skins and acid
met their nostrils at once. That was the odor of morocco, at
the manufacture of which all the inhabitants of Mohiloff worked
somewhat, but especially the Armenians. As Azya had said, the
place was different altogether from others. The houses were built
in Asiatic fashion; they had windows covered with thick wooden
lattice; in many houses there were no windows on the street, and
only in the yards was seen the glitter of fires. The streets were
not paved, though there was no lack of stone in the neighborhood.
Here and there were buildings of strange form with latticed,
transparent walls; those were drying-houses, in which fresh grapes
were turned into raisins. The odor of morocco filled the whole
place.
Pan Gorzenski, who commanded the infantry, had been informed by the
Cheremis of the arrival of the wife of the commandant of Hreptyoff,
and rode out on horseback to meet her. He was not young, and he
stuttered; he lisped also, for his face had been pierced by a
bullet from a long-barrelled janissary gun; therefore when he began
to speak (stuttering every moment) of the star “which had risen in
the heavens of Mohiloff,” Basia came near bursting into laughter.
But he received her in the most hospitable manner known to him.
In the “fortalice” a supper was waiting for her, and a supremely
comfortable bed on fresh and clean down, which he had taken by a
forced loan from the wealthiest Armenians. Pan Gorzenski stuttered,
it is true, but during the evening he related at the supper things
so curious that it was worth while to listen.
According to him a certain disquieting breeze had begun to blow
suddenly and unexpectedly from the steppes. Reports came that a
strong chambul of the Crimean horde, stationed with Doroshenko,
had moved all at once toward Haysyn and the country above that
point; with the chambuls went some thousands of Cossacks. Besides,
a number of other alarming reports had come from indefinite places.
Pan Gorzenski did not attach great faith to these rumors, however.
“For it is winter,” said he; “and since the Lord God has created
this earthly circle the Tartars move only in spring; then they form
no camp, carry no baggage, take no food for their horses in any
place. We all know that war with the Turkish power is held in the
leash by frost alone, and that we shall have guests at the first
grass; but that there is anything at present I shall never believe.”
Basia waited patiently and long till Pan Gorzenski should finish.
He stuttered, meanwhile, and moved his lips continually, as if
eating.
“What do you think yourself of the movement of the horde toward
Haysyn?” asked she at last.
“I think that their horses have pawed out all the grass from under
the snow, and that they wish to make a camp in another place.
Besides, it may be that the horde; living near Doroshenko’s men,
are quarrelling with them; it has always been so. Though they are
allies and are fighting together, only let encampments stand side
by side, and they fall to quarrelling at once in the pastures and
at the bazaars.”
“That is the case surely,” said Azya.
“And there is another point,” continued Pan Gorzenski; “the reports
did not come directly through partisans, but peasants brought
them; the Tartars here began to talk without evident reason. Three
days ago Pan Yakubovich brought in from the steppes the first
informants who confirmed the reports, and all the cavalry marched
out immediately.”
“Then you are here with infantry only?” inquired Azya.
“God pity us!--forty men! There is hardly any one to guard the
fortalice; and if the Tartars living here in Mohiloff were to rise,
I know not how I could defend myself.”
“But why do they not rise against you?” inquired Basia.
“They do not, because they cannot in any way. Many of them live
permanently in the Commonwealth with their wives and children, and
they are on our side. As to strangers, they are here for commerce,
not for war; they are good people.”
“I will leave your grace fifty horse from my force,” said Azya.
“God reward! You will oblige me greatly by this, for I shall have
some one to send out to get intelligence. But can you leave them?”
“I can. We shall have in Rashkoff the parties of those captains
who in their time went over to the Sultan, but now wish to resume
obedience to the Commonwealth. Krychinski will bring three hundred
horse certainly; and perhaps Adurovich, too, will come; others will
arrive later. I am to take command over all by order of the hetman,
and before spring a whole division will be assembled.”
Pan Gorzenski inclined before Azya. He had known him for a long
time, but had had small esteem for him, as being a man of doubtful
origin. But knowing now that he was the son of Tugai Bey, for
an account of this had been brought by the recent caravan in
which Naviragh was travelling, Gorzenski honored in the young
Tartar the blood of a great though hostile warrior; he honored
in him, besides, an officer to whom the hetman had confided such
significant functions.
Azya went out to give orders, and calling the sotnik David, said,--
“David, son of Skander, thou wilt remain in Mohiloff with fifty
horse. Thou wilt see with thy eyes and hear with thy ears what is
happening around thee. If the Little Falcon in Hreptyoff sends
letters to me, thou wilt stop his messenger, take the letters from
him, and send them with thy own man. Thou wilt remain here till I
send an order to withdraw. If my messenger says, ‘It is night,’
thou wilt go out in peace; but if he says, ‘Day is near,’ thou
wilt burn the place, cross to the Moldavian bank, and go whither I
command thee.”
“Thou hast spoken,” answered David; “I will see with my eyes and
hear with my ears; I will stop messengers from the Little Falcon,
and when I have taken letters from them I will send those letters
through our man to thee. I will remain till I receive an order; and
if the messenger says to me, ‘It is night,’ I will go out quietly;
if he says, ‘Day is near,’ I will burn the place, cross to the
Moldavian bank, and go whither the command directs.”
Next morning the caravan, less by fifty horse, continued the
journey. Pan Gorzenski escorted Basia beyond the ravine of
Mohiloff. There, after he had stuttered forth a farewell oration,
he returned to Mohiloff, and they went on toward Yampol very
hurriedly. Azya was unusually joyful, and urged his men to a degree
that astonished Basia.
“Why are you in such haste?” inquired she.
“Every man hastens to happiness,” answered Azya, “and mine will
begin in Rashkoff.”
Eva, taking these words to herself, smiled tenderly, and collecting
courage, answered, “But my father?”
“Pan Novoveski will obstruct me in nothing,” answered the Tartar,
and gloomy lightning flashed through his face.
In Yampol they found almost no troops. There had never been any
infantry there, and nearly all the cavalry had gone; barely a few
men remained in the castle, or rather in the ruins of it. Lodgings
were prepared, but Basia slept badly, for those rumors had begun to
disturb her. She pondered over this especially,--how alarmed the
little knight would be should it turn out that one of Doroshenko’s
chambuls had advanced really; but she strengthened herself with
the thought that it might be untrue. It occurred to her whether
it would not be better to return, taking for safety a part of
Azya’s soldiers; but various obstacles presented themselves. First,
Azya, having to increase the garrison at Rashkoff, could give only
a small guard, hence, in case of real danger, that guard might
prove insufficient; secondly, two thirds of the road was passed
already; in Rashkoff there was an officer known to her, and a
strong garrison, which, increased by Azya’s detachment and by the
companies of those captains, might grow to a power quite important.
Taking all this into consideration, Basia determined to journey
farther.
But she could not sleep. For the first time during that journey
alarm seized her, as if unknown danger were hanging over her head.
Perhaps lodging in Yampol had its share in those alarms, for
that was a bloody and a terrible place; Basia knew it from the
narratives of her husband and Pan Zagloba. Here had been stationed
in Hmelnitski’s time the main forces of the Podolian cut-throats
under Burlai; hither captives had been brought and sold for the
markets of the East, or killed by a cruel death; finally, in the
spring of 1651, during the time of a crowded fair, Pan Stanislav
Lantskoronski, the voevoda of Bratslav, had burst in and made a
dreadful slaughter, the memory of which was fresh throughout the
whole borderland of the Dniester.
Hence, there hung everywhere over the whole settlement bloody
memories; hence, here and there were blackened ruins, and from the
walls of the half-destroyed castle seemed to gaze white faces of
slaughtered Poles and Cossacks. Basia was daring, but she feared
ghosts; it was said that in Yampol itself, at the mouth of the
Shumilovka, and on the neighboring cataracts of the Dniester, great
wailing was heard at midnight and groans, and that the water became
red in the moonlight as if colored with blood. The thought of this
filled Basia’s heart with bitter alarm. She listened, in spite of
herself, to hear in the still night, in the sounds of the cataract,
weeping and groans. She heard only the prolonged “watch call” of
the sentries. Then she remembered the quiet room in Hreptyoff, her
husband, Pan Zagloba, the friendly faces of Pan Nyenashinyets,
Mushalski, Motovidlo, Snitko, and others, and for the first time
she felt that she was far from them, very far, in a strange region;
and such a homesickness for Hreptyoff seized her that she wanted
to weep. It was near morning when she fell asleep, but she had
wonderful dreams. Burlai, the cut-throats, the Tartars, bloody
pictures of massacre, passed through her sleeping head; and in
those pictures she saw continually the face of Azya,--not the same
Azya, however, but as it were a Cossack, or a wild Tartar, or Tugai
Bey himself.
She rose early, glad that night and the disagreeable visions
had ended. She had determined to make the rest of the journey
on horseback,--first, to enjoy the movement; second, to give an
opportunity for free speech to Azya and Eva, who, in view of the
nearness of Rashkoff, needed, of course, to settle the way of
declaring everything to old Pan Novoveski, and to receive his
consent. Azya held the stirrup with his own hand; he did not sit,
however, in the sleigh with Eva, but went without delay to the head
of the detachment, and remained near Basia.
She noticed at once that again the cavalry were fewer in number
than when they came to Yampol; she turned therefore to the young
Tartar and said, “I see that you have left some men in Yampol?”
“Fifty horse, the same as in Mohiloff,” answered Azya.
“Why was that?”
He laughed peculiarly; his lips rose as those of a wicked dog do
when he shows his teeth, and he answered only after a while.
“I wished to have those places in my power, and to secure the
homeward road for your grace.”
“If the troops return from the steppes, there will be forces there
then.”
“The troops will not come back so soon.”
“Whence do you know that?”
“They cannot, because first they must learn clearly what Doroshenko
is doing; that will occupy about three or four weeks.”
“If that is the case you did well to leave those men.”
They rode a while in silence. Azya looked from time to time at the
rosy face of Basia, half concealed by the raised collar of her
mantle and her cap, and after every glance he closed his eyes, as
if wishing to fix that charming picture more firmly in his mind.
“You ought to talk with Eva,” said Basia, renewing the
conversation. “You talk altogether too little with her; she knows
not what to think. You will stand before the face of Pan Novoveski
soon; alarm even seizes me. You and she should take counsel
together, and settle how you are to begin.”
“I should like to speak first with your grace,” said Azya, with a
strange voice.
“Then why not speak at once?”
“I am waiting for a messenger from Rashkoff; I thought to find him
in Yampol. I expect him every moment.”
“But what,” said Basia, “has the messenger to do with our
conversation?”
“I think that he is coming now,” said the Tartar, avoiding an
answer. And he galloped forward, but returned after a while. “No;
that is not he.”
In his whole posture, in his speech, in his look, in his voice,
there was something so excited and feverish that unquietude was
communicated to Basia; still the least suspicion had not risen in
her head yet. Azya’s unrest could be explained perfectly by the
nearness of Rashkoff and of Eva’s terrible father; still, something
oppressed Basia, as if her own fate were in question. Approaching
the sleigh, she rode near Eva for a number of hours, speaking
with her of Rashkoff, of old Pan Novoveski, of Pan Adam, of Zosia
Boski, finally of the region about them, which was becoming a
wilder and more terrible wilderness. It was, in truth, a wilderness
immediately beyond Hreptyoff; but there at least a column of smoke
rose from time to time on the horizon, indicating some habitation.
Here there were no traces of man; and if Basia had not known that
she was going to Rashkoff, where people were living, and a Polish
garrison was stationed, she might have thought that they were
taking her somewhere into an unknown desert, into strange lands at
the end of the world.
Looking around at the country, she restrained her horse
involuntarily, and was soon left in the rear of the sleighs and
horsemen. Azya joined her after a while; and since he knew the
region well, he began to show her various places, mentioning their
names.
This did not last very long, however, for the earth began to be
smoky; evidently the winter had not such power in that southern
region as in woody Hreptyoff. Snow was lying somewhat, it is true,
in the valleys, on the cliffs, on the edges of the rocks, and also
on the hillsides turned northward; but in general the earth was not
covered, and looked dark with groves, or gleamed with damp withered
grass. From that grass rose a light whitish fog, which, extending
near the earth, formed in the distance the counterfeit of great
waters, filling the valleys and spreading widely over the plains;
then that fog rose higher and higher, till at last it hid the
sunshine, and turned a clear day into a foggy and gloomy one.
“There will be rain to-morrow,” said Azya.
“If not to-day. How far is it to Rashkoff?”
Azya looked at the nearest place, barely visibly through the fog,
and said,--
“From that point it is nearer to Rashkoff than to Yampol.” And he
breathed deeply, as if a great weight had fallen from his breast.
At that moment the tramp of a horse was heard from the direction of
the cavalry, and some horseman was seen indistinctly in the fog.
“Halim! I know him,” cried Azya.
Indeed, it was Halim, who, when he had rushed up to Azya and Basia,
sprang from his horse and began to beat with his forehead toward
the stirrup of the young Tartar.
“From Rashkoff?” inquired Azya.
“From Rashkoff, my lord,” answered Halim.
“What is to be heard there?”
The old man raised toward Basia his ugly head, emaciated from
unheard of toils, as if wishing to inquire whether he might speak
in her presence; but Tugai Bey’s son said at once,--
“Speak boldly. Have the troops gone out?”
“They have. A handful remained.”
“Who led them?”
“Pan Novoveski.”
“Have the Pyotroviches gone to the Crimea?”
“Long ago. Only two women remained, and old Pan Novoveski with
them.”
“Where is Krychinski?”
“On the other bank of the river; he is waiting.”
“Who is with him?”
“Adurovich with his company; both beat with the forehead to
thy stirrup, O son of Tugai Bey, and give themselves under thy
hand,--they, and all those who have not come yet.”
“’Tis well!” said Azya, with fire in his eyes. “Fly to Krychinski
at once, and give the command to occupy Rashkoff.”
“Thy will, lord.”
Halim sprang on his horse in a moment, and vanished like a phantom
in the fog. A terrible, ominous gleam issued from the face of Azya.
The decisive moment had come,--the moment waited for, the moment of
greatest happiness for him; but his heart was beating as if breath
were failing him. He rode for a time in silence near Basia; and
only when he felt that his voice would not deceive him did he turn
toward her his eyes, inscrutable but bright, and say,--
“Now I will speak to your grace with sincerity.”
“I listen,” said Basia, scanning him carefully, as if she wished to
read his changed countenance.