The trusty Soroka carried his colonel through the deep forest, not
knowing himself what to begin, whither to go or to turn.
Kmita was not only wounded, but stunned by the shot. Soroka from time
to time moistened the piece of cloth in a bucket hanging by the horse,
and washed his face; at times he halted to take fresh water from the
streams and forest ponds; but neither halts nor the movement of the
horse could restore at once consciousness to Pan Andrei, and he lay as
if dead, till the soldiers going with him, and less experienced in the
matter of wounds than Soroka, began to be alarmed for the life of their
colonel.
"He is alive," answered Soroka; "in three days he will be on horseback
like any of us."
In fact, an hour later, Kmita opened his eyes; but from his mouth came
forth one word only,--
"Drink!"
Soroka held a cup of pure water to his lips; but it seemed that to open
his mouth caused Pan Andrei unendurable pain, and he was unable to
drink. But he did not lose consciousness: he asked for nothing,
apparently remembered nothing; his eyes were wide open, and he gazed,
without attention, toward the depth of the forest, on the streaks of
blue sky visible through the dense branches above their heads, and at
his comrades, like a man roused from sleep, or like one recovered from
drunkenness, and permitted Soroka to take care of him without saying a
word,--nay, the cold water with which the sergeant washed the wound
seemed to give him pleasure, for at times his eyes smiled. But Soroka
comforted him,--
"To-morrow the dizziness will pass, Colonel; God grant recovery."
In fact, dizziness began to disappear toward evening; for just before
the setting of the sun Kmita seemed more self-possessed and asked on a
sudden, "What noise is that?"
"What noise? There is none," answered Soroka.
Apparently the noise was only in the head of Pan Andrei, for the
evening was calm. The setting sun, piercing the gloom with its slanting
rays, filled with golden glitter the forest darkness, and lighted the
red trunks of the pine-trees. There was no wind, and only here and
there, from hazel, birch, and hornbeam trees leaves dropped to the
ground, or timid beasts made slight rustle in fleeing to the depths of
the forest in front of the horsemen.
The evening was cool; but evidently fever had begun to attack Pan
Andrei, for he repeated,--
"Your highness, it is life or death between us!"
At last it became dark altogether, and Soroka was thinking of a night
camp; but because they had entered a damp forest and the ground began
to yield under the hoofs of their horses, they continued to ride in
order to reach high and dry places.
They rode one hour and a second without being able to pass the swamp.
Meanwhile it was growing lighter, for the moon had risen. Suddenly
Soroka, who was in advance, sprang from the saddle and began to look
carefully at the ground.
"Horses have passed this way," said he, at sight of tracks in the soft
earth.
"Who could have passed, when there is no road?" asked one of the
soldiers supporting Pan Kmita.
"But there are tracks, and a whole crowd of them! Look here between the
pines,--as evident as on the palm of the hand!"
"Perhaps cattle have passed."
"Impossible. It is not the time of forest pastures; horse-hoofs are
clearly to be seen, somebody must have passed. It would be well to find
even a forester's cabin."
"Let us follow the trail."
"Let us ride forward!"
Soroka mounted again and rode on. Horses' tracks in the turfy ground
were more distinct; and some of them, as far as could be seen in the
light of the moon, seemed quite fresh. Still the horses sank to their
knees, and beyond. The soldiers were afraid that they could not wade
through, or would come to some deeper quagmire; when, at the end of
half an hour, the odor of smoke and rosin came to their nostrils.
"There must be a pitch-clearing here," said Soroka.
"Yes, sparks are to be seen," said a soldier.
And really in the distance appeared a line of reddish smoke, filled
with flame, around which were dancing the sparks of a fire burning
under the ground.
When they had approached, the soldiers saw a cabin, a well, and a
strong shed built of pine logs. The horses, wearied from the road,
began to neigh; frequent neighing answered them from under the shed,
and at the same time there stood before the riders some kind of a
figure, dressed in sheepskin, wool outward.
"Are there many horses?" asked the man in the sheepskin.
"Is this a pitch-factory?" inquired Soroka.
"What kind of people are ye? Where do ye come from?" asked the
pitch-maker, in a voice in which astonishment and alarm were evident.
"Never fear!" answered Soroka; "we are not robbers."
"Go your own way; there is nothing for you here."
"Shut thy mouth, and guide us to the house since we ask. Seest not,
scoundrel, that we are taking a wounded man?"
"What kind of people are ye?"
"Be quick, or we answer from guns. It will be better for thee to hurry.
Take us to the house; if not, we will cook thee in thy own pitch."
"I cannot defend myself alone, but there will be more of us. Ye will
lay down your lives here."
"There will be more of us too; lead on!"
"Go on yourselves; it is not my affair."
"What thou hast to eat, give us, and gorailka. We are carrying a man
who will pay."
"If he leaves here alive."
Thus conversing, they entered the cabin; a fire was burning in the
chimney, and from pots, hanging by the handles, came the odor of
boiling meat. The cabin was quite large. Soroka saw at the walls six
wooden beds, covered thickly with sheepskins.
"This is the resort of some company," muttered he to his comrades.
"Prime your guns and watch well. Take care of this scoundrel, let him
not slip away. The owners sleep outside to-night, for we shall not
leave the house."
"The men will not come to-day," said the pitch-maker.
"That is better, for we shall not quarrel about room, and to-morrow we
will go on," replied Soroka; "but now dish the meat, for we are hungry,
and spare no oats on the horses."
"Where can oats be found here, great mighty soldiers?"
"We heard horses under the shed, so there must be oats; thou dost not
feed them with pitch."
"They are not my horses."
"Whether they are yours or not, they must eat as well as ours. Hurry,
man, hurry! if thy skin is dear to thee!"
The pitch-maker said nothing. The soldiers entered the house, placed
the sleeping Kmita on a bed, and sat down to supper. They ate eagerly
the boiled meat and cabbage, a large kettle of which was in the
chimney. There was millet also, and in a room at the side of the cabin
Soroka found a large decanter of spirits.
He merely strengthened himself with it slightly, and gave none to the
soldiers, for he had determined to hold it in reserve for the night.
This empty house with six beds for men, and a shed in which a band of
horses were neighing, seemed to him strange and suspicious. He judged
simply that this was a robbers' retreat, especially since in the room
from which he brought the decanter he found many weapons hanging on the
wall, and a keg of powder, with various furniture, evidently plundered
from noble houses. In case the absent occupants of the cabin returned,
it was impossible to expect from them not merely hospitality, but even
mercy. Soroka therefore resolved to hold the house with armed hand, and
maintain himself in it by superior force or negotiations.
This was imperative also in view of the health of Pan Kmita, for whom a
journey might be fatal, and in view of the safety of all.
Soroka was a trained and seasoned soldier, to whom one feeling was
foreign,--the feeling of fear. Still in that moment, at thought of
Prince Boguslav, fear seized him. Having been for long years in the
service of Kmita, he had blind faith, not only in the valor, but the
fortune of the man; he had seen more than once deeds of his which in
daring surpassed every measure, and touched almost on madness, but
which still succeeded and passed without harm. With Kmita he had gone
through the "raids" on Hovanski; had taken part in all the surprises,
attacks, fights, and onsets, and had come to the conviction that Pan
Andrei could do all things, succeed in all things, come out of every
chaos, and destroy whomsoever he wished. Kmita therefore was for him
the highest impersonation of power and fortune,--but this time he had
met his match seemingly, nay, he had met his superior. How was this?
One man carried away, without weapons, and in Kmita's hands, had freed
himself from those hands; not only that, he had overthrown Kmita,
conquered his soldiers, and terrified them so that they ran away in
fear of his return. That was a wonder of wonders, and Soroka lost his
head pondering over it. To his thinking, anything might come to pass in
the world rather than this, that a man might be found who could ride
over Kmita.
"Has our fortune then ended?" muttered he to himself, gazing around in
wonder.
It was not long since with eyes shut he followed Pan Kmita to
Hovanski's quarters surrounded by eighty thousand men; now at the
thought of that long-haired prince with lady's eyes and a painted face,
superstitious terror seized him, and he knew not what to do. The
thought alarmed him, that to-morrow or the next day he would have to
travel on highways where the terrible prince himself or his pursuers
might meet him. This was the reason why he had gone from the road to
the dense forest, and at present wished to stay in that cabin until
pursuers were deluded and wearied.
But since even that hiding-place did not seem to him safe for other
reasons, he wished to discover what course to take; therefore he
ordered the soldiers to stand guard at the door and the windows, and
said to the pitch-maker,--
"Here, man, take a lantern and come with me."
"I can light the great mighty lord only with a pitch-torch, for we have
no lantern."
"Then light the torch; if thou burn the shed and the horses, it is all
one to me."
After such words a lantern was found right away. Soroka commanded the
fellow to go ahead, and followed himself with a pistol in his hand.
"Who live in this cabin?" asked he on the road.
"Men live here."
"What are their names?"
"That is not free for me to say."
"It seems to me, fellow, that thou'lt get a bullet in thy head."
"My master," answered the pitch-maker, "if I had told in a lie any kind
of name, you would have to be satisfied."
"True! But are there many of those men?"
"There is an old one, two sons, and two servants."
"Are they nobles?"
"Surely nobles."
"Do they live here?"
"Sometimes here, and sometimes God knows where."
"But the horses, whence are they?"
"God knows whence they bring them."
"Tell the truth; do thy masters not rob on the highway?"
"Do I know? It seems to me they take horses, but whose,--that's not on
my head."
"What do they do with the horses?"
"Sometimes they take ten or twelve of them, as many as there are, and
drive them away, but whither I know not."
Thus conversing, they reached the shed, from which was heard the
snorting of horses.
"Hold the light," said Soroka.
The fellow raised the lantern, and threw light on the horses standing
in a row at the wall. Soroka examined them one after another with the
eye of a specialist, shook his head, smacked his lips, and said,--
"The late Pan Zend would have rejoiced. There are Polish and Muscovite
horses here,--there is a Wallachian, a German,--a mare. Fine horses!
What dost thou give them to eat?"
"Not to lie, my master, I sowed two fields with oats in springtime."
"Then thy masters have been handling horses since spring?"
"No, but they sent a servant to me with a command."
"Then art thou theirs?"
"I was till they went to the war."
"What war?"
"Do I know? They went far away last year, and came back in the summer."
"Whose art thou now?"
"These are the king's forests."
"Who put thee here to make pitch?"
"The royal forester, a relative of these men, who also brought horses
with them; but since he went away once with them, he has not come
back."
"And do guests come to these men?"
"Nobody comes here, for there are swamps around, and only one road. It
is a wonder to me that ye could come, my master; for whoso does not
strike the road, will be drawn in by the swamp."
Soroka wanted to answer that he knew these woods and the road very
well; but after a moment's thought he determined that silence was
better, and inquired,--
"Are these woods very great?"
The fellow did not understand the question. "How is that?"
"Do they go far?"
"Oh! who has gone through them? Where one ends another begins, and God
knows where they are not; I have never been in that place."
"Very well!" said Soroka.
Then he ordered the man to go back to the cabin, and followed himself.
On the way he was pondering over what he should do, and hesitated.
On one hand the wish came to him to take the horses while the
cabin-dwellers were gone, and flee with this plunder. The booty was
precious, and the horses pleased the old soldier's heart greatly; but
after a while he overcame the temptation. To take them was easy, but
what to do further. Swamps all around, one egress,--how hit upon that?
Chance had served him once, but perhaps it would not a second time. To
follow the trail of hoofs was useless, for the cabin-dwellers had
surely wit enough to make by design false and treacherous trails
leading straight into quagmires. Soroka knew clearly the methods of men
who steal horses, and of those who take booty.
He thought awhile, therefore, and meditated; all at once he struck his
head with his fist,--
"I am a fool!" muttered he. "I'll take the fellow on a rope, and make
him lead me to the highway."
Barely had he uttered the last word when he shuddered, "To the highway?
But that prince will be there, and pursuit. To lose fifteen horses!"
said the old fox to himself, with as much sorrow as if he had cared for
the beasts from their colthood. "It must be that our fortune is ended.
We must stay in the cabin till Pan Kmita recovers,--stay with consent
of the owners or without their consent; and what will come later, that
is work for the colonel's head."
Thus meditating, he returned to the cabin. The watchful soldiers were
standing at the door, and though they saw a lantern shining in
the dark from a distance,--the same lantern with which Soroka and the
pitch-maker had gone out,--still they forced them to tell who they were
before they let them enter the cabin. Soroka ordered his soldiers to
change the watch about midnight, and threw himself down on the plank
bed beside Kmita.
It had become quiet in the cabin; only the crickets raised their usual
music in the adjoining closet, and the mice gnawed from moment to
moment among the rubbish piled up there. The sick man woke at intervals
and seemed to have dreams in his fever, for to Soroka's ears came the
disconnected words,--
"Gracious king, pardon--Those men are traitors--I will tell all their
secrets--The Commonwealth is a red cloth--Well, I have you, worthy
prince--Hold him!--Gracious king, this way, for there is treason!"
Soroka rose on the bed and listened; but the sick man, when he had
screamed once and a second time, fell asleep, and then woke and
cried,--
"Olenka, Olenka, be not angry!"
About midnight he grew perfectly calm and slept soundly. Soroka also
began to slumber; but soon a gentle knocking at the door of the cabin
roused him.
The watchful soldier opened his eyes at once, and springing to his feet
went out.
"But what is the matter?" asked he.
"Sergeant, the pitch-maker has escaped."
"A hundred devils! he'll bring robbers to us right away."
"Who was watching him?"
"Biloüs."
"I went with him to water our horses," said Biloüs, explaining. "I
ordered him to draw the water, and held the horses myself."
"And what? Did he jump into the well?"
"No, Sergeant, but between the logs, of which there are many near the
well, and into the stump-holes. I let the horses go; for though they
scattered there are others here, and sprang after him, but I fell into
the first hole. It was night,--dark; the scoundrel knows the place, and
ran away. May the pest strike him!"
"He will bring those devils here to us,--he'll bring them. May the
thunderbolts split him!"
The sergeant stopped, but after a while said,--
"We will not lie down; we must watch till morning. Any moment a crowd
may come."
And giving an example to the others, he took his place on the threshold
of the cabin with a musket in his hand. The soldiers sat near him
talking in an undertone, listening sometimes to learn if in the night
sounds of the pine-woods the tramp and snort of coming horses could
reach them.
It was a moonlight night, and calm, but noisy. In the forest depths
life was seething. It was the season of mating; therefore the
wilderness thundered with terrible bellowing of stags. These sounds,
short, hoarse, full of anger and rage, were heard round about in all
parts of the forest, distant and near,--sometimes right there, as if a
hundred yards from the cabin.
"If men come, they will bellow too, to mislead us," said Biloüs.
"Eh! they will not come to-night. Before the pitch-maker finds them
'twill be day," said the other soldiers.
"In the daytime, Sergeant, it would be well to examine the cabin and
dig under the walls; for if robbers dwell here there must be
treasures."
"The best treasures are in that stable," said Soroka, pointing with his
finger to the shed.
"But we'll take them?"
"Ye are fools! there is no way out,--nothing but swamps all around."
"But we came in."
"God guided us. A living soul cannot come here or leave here without
knowing the road."
"We will find it in the daytime."
"We shall not find it, for tracks are made everywhere purposely, and
the trails are misleading. It was not right to let the man go."
"It is known that the highroad is a day's journey distant, and in that
direction," said Biloüs.
Here he pointed with his finger to the eastern part of the forest.
"We will ride on till we pass through,--that's what we'll do! You think
that you will be a lord when you touch the highway? Better the bullet
of a robber here than a rope there."
"How is that, father?" asked Biloüs.
"They are surely looking for us there."
"Who, father?"
"The prince."
Soroka was suddenly silent; and after him were silent the others, as if
seized with fear.
"Oi!" said Biloüs, at last. "It is bad here and bad there; though you
twist, you can't turn."
"They have driven us poor devils into a net; here robbers, and there
the prince," said another soldier.
"May the thunderbolts burn them there! I would rather have to do with a
robber than with a wizard," added Biloüs; "for that prince is
possessed, yes, possessed. Zavratynski could wrestle with a bear, and
the prince took the sword from his hands as from a child. It can only
be that he enchanted him, for I saw, too, that when he rushed at
Vitkovski Boguslav grew up before the eyes to the size of a pine-tree.
If he had not, I shouldn't have let him go alive."
"But you were a fool not to jump at him."
"What had I to do, Sergeant? I thought this way: he is sitting on the
best horse; if he wishes, he will run away, but if he attacks me I
shall not be able to defend myself, for with a wizard is a power not
human! He becomes invisible to the eye or surrounds himself with
dust--"
"That is truth," answered Soroka; "for when I fired at him he was
surrounded as it were by a fog, and I missed. Any man mounted may miss
when the horse is moving, but on the ground that has not happened to me
for ten years."
"What's the use in talking?" said Biloüs, "better count: Lyubyenyets,
Vitkovski, Zavratynski, our colonel; and one man brought them all down,
and he without arms,--such men that each of them has many a time stood
against four. Without the help of the devil he could not have done
this."
"Let us commend our souls to God; for if he is possessed, the devil
will show him the road to this place."
"But without that he has long arms for such a lord."
"Quiet!" exclaimed Soroka, quickly; "something is making the leaves
rustle."
The soldiers were quiet and bent their ears. Near by, indeed, were
heard some kind of heavy steps, under which the fallen leaves rustled
very clearly.
"I hear horses," whispered Soroka.
But the steps began to retreat from the cabin, and soon after was heard
the threatening and hoarse bellowing of a stag.
"That is a stag! He is making himself known to a doe, or fighting off
another horned fellow."
"Throughout the whole forest are entertainments as if at the wedding of
Satan."
They were silent again and began to doze. The sergeant raised his head
at times and listened for a while, then dropped it toward his breast.
Thus passed an hour, and a second; at last the nearest pine-trees from
being black became gray, and the tops grew whiter each moment, as if some
one had burnished them with molten silver. The bellowing of stags
ceased, and complete stillness reigned in the forest depths. Dawn passed
gradually into day; the white and pale light began to absorb rosy and
golden gleams; at last perfect morning had come, and lighted the tired
faces of the soldiers sleeping a firm sleep at the cabin.
Then the door opened, Kmita appeared on the threshold, and called,--
"Soroka! come here!"
The soldiers sprang up.
"For God's sake, is your grace on foot?" asked Soroka.
"But you have slept like oxen; it would have been possible to cut off
your heads and throw them out before any one would have been roused."
"We watched till morning, Colonel; we fell asleep only in the broad day."
Kmita looked around. "Where are we?"
"In the forest, Colonel."
"I see that myself. But what sort of a cabin is this?"
"We know not ourselves."
"Follow me," said Kmita. And he turned to the inside of the cabin.
Soroka followed.
"Listen," said Kmita, sitting on the bed. "Did the prince fire at me?"
"He did."
"And what happened to him?"
"He escaped."
A moment of silence followed.
"That is bad," said Kmita, "very bad! Better to lay him down than to
let him go alive."
"We wanted to do that, but--"
"But what?"
Soroka told briefly all that had happened. Kmita listened with
wonderful calmness; but his eyes began to glitter, and at last he
said,--
"Then he is victor; but we'll meet again. Why did you leave the
highroad?"
"I was afraid of pursuit."
"That was right, for surely there was pursuit. There are too few of us
now to fight against Boguslav's power,--too few. Besides, he has gone
to Prussia; we cannot reach him there, we must wait--"
Soroka was relieved. Pan Kmita evidently did not fear Boguslav greatly,
since he talked of overtaking him. This confidence was communicated at
once to the old soldier accustomed to think with the head of his
colonel and to feel with his heart.
Meanwhile Pan Andrei, who had fallen into deep thought, came to himself
on a sudden, and began to seek something about his person with both his
hands.
"Where are my letters?" asked he.
"What letters?"
"Letters that I had on my body. They were fastened to my belt; where is
the belt?" asked Pan Andrei, in haste.
"I unbuckled the belt myself, that your grace might breathe more
easily; there it is."
"Bring it."
Soroka gave him a belt lined with white leather, to which a bag was
attached by cords. Kmita untied it and took out papers hastily.
"These are passes to the Swedish commandants; but where are the
letters?" asked he, in a voice full of disquiet.
"What letters?" asked Soroka.
"Hundreds of thunders! the letters of the hetman to the Swedish King,
to Pan Lyubomirski, and all those that I had."
"If they are not on the belt, they are nowhere. They must have been
lost in the time of the riding."
"To horse and look for them!" cried Kmita, in a terrible voice.
But before the astonished Soroka could leave the room Pan Andrei sank
to the bed as if strength had failed him, and seizing his head with his
hands, began to repeat in a groaning voice,--
"Ai! my letters, my letters!"
Meanwhile the soldiers rode off, except one, whom Soroka commanded to
guard the cabin. Kmita remained alone in the room, and began to
meditate over his position, which was not deserving of envy. Boguslav
had escaped. Over Pan Andrei was hanging the terrible and inevitable
vengeance of the powerful Radzivills. And not only over him, but over
all whom he loved, and speaking briefly, over Olenka. Kmita knew that
Prince Yanush would not hesitate to strike where he could wound him
most painfully,--that is, to pour out his vengeance on the person of
Panna Billevich. And Olenka was still in Kyedani at the mercy of the
terrible magnate, whose heart knew no pity. The more Kmita meditated
over his position, the more clearly was he convinced that it was simply
dreadful. After the seizure of Boguslav, the Radzivills will hold him a
traitor; the adherents of Yan Kazimir, the partisans of Sapyeha, and
the confederates who had risen up in Podlyasye look on him as a traitor
now, and a damned soul of the Radzivills. Among the many camps,
parties, and foreign troops occupying at that moment the fields of the
Commonwealth, there is not a camp, a party, a body of troops which
would not count him as the greatest and most malignant enemy. Indeed,
the reward offered for his head by Hovanski is still in force, and now
Radzivill and the Swedes will offer rewards,--and who knows if the
adherents of the unfortunate Yan Kazimir have not already proclaimed
one?
"I have brewed beer and must drink it," thought Kmita. When he bore
away Prince Boguslav, he did so to throw him at the feet of the
confederate's, to convince them beyond question that he had broken with
the Radzivills, to purchase a place with them, to win the right of
fighting for the king and the country. Besides, Boguslav in his hands
was a hostage for the safety of Olenka. But since Boguslav has crushed
Kmita and escaped, not only is Olenka's safety gone, but also the proof
that Kmita has really left the service of the Radzivills. But the road
to the confederates is open to him; and if he meets Volodyovski's
division and his friends the colonels, they may grant him his life, but
will they take him as a comrade, will they believe him, will they not
think that he has appeared as a spy, or has come to tamper with their
courage and bring over people to Radzivill? Here he remembered that the
blood of confederates was weighing on him; that to begin with, he had
struck down the Hungarians and dragoons in Kyedani, that he had
scattered the mutinous squadrons or forced them to yield, that he had
shot stubborn officers and exterminated soldiers, that he had
surrounded Kyedani with trenches and fortified it, and thus assured the
triumph of Radzivill in Jmud. "How could I go?" thought he; "the plague
would in fact be a more welcome guest there than I! With Boguslav on a
lariat at the saddle it would be possible; but with only my mouth and
empty hands!"
If he had those letters he might join the confederates, he would have
had Prince Yanush in hand, for those letters might undermine the credit
of the hetman, even with the Swedes,--even with the price of them he
might save Olenka; but some evil spirit had so arranged that the
letters were lost.
When Kmita comprehended all this, he seized his own head a second time.
"For the Radzivills a traitor, for Olenka a traitor, for the
confederate's a traitor, for the king a traitor! I have ruined my fame,
my honor, myself, and Olenka!"
The wound in his face was burning, but in his soul hot pain, a
hundred-fold greater, was burning him. In addition to all, his
self-love as a knight was suffering. For he was shamefully beaten by
Boguslav. Those slashes which Volodyovski had given him in Lyubich were
nothing. There he was finished by an armed man whom he had called out
in a duel, here by a defenceless prisoner whom he had in his hand.
With every moment increased in Kmita the consciousness of how terrible
and shameful was the plight into which he had fallen. The longer he
examined it the more clearly he saw its horror; and every moment he saw
new black corners from which were peering forth infamy and shame,
destruction to himself, to Olenka, wrong against the country,--till at
last terror and amazement seized him.
"Have I done all this?" asked he of himself; and the hair stood on his
head.
"Impossible! It must be that fever is shaking me yet," cried he.
"Mother of God, this is not possible!"
"Blind, foolish quarreller," said his conscience, "this would not have
come to thee in fighting for the king and the country, nor if thou
hadst listened to Olenka."
And sorrow tore him like a whirlwind. Hei! if only he could say to
himself: "The Swedes against the country, I against them! Radzivill
against the king, I against him!" Then it would be clear and
transparent in his soul. Then he might collect a body of cut-throats
from under a dark star and, frolic with them as a gypsy at a fair, fall
upon the Swedes, and ride over their breasts with pure heart and
conscience; then he might stand in glory as in sunlight before Olenka,
and say,--
"I am no longer infamous, but _defensor patriæ_ (a defender of the
country); love me, as I love thee."
But what was he now? That insolent spirit, accustomed to
self-indulgence, would not confess to a fault altogether at first. It
was the Radzivills who (according to him) had pushed him down in this
fashion; it was the Radzivills who had brought him to ruin, covered him
with evil repute, bound his hands, despoiled him of honor and love.
Here Pan Kmita gnashed his teeth, stretched out his hands toward Jmud,
on which Yanush, the hetman, was sitting like a wolf on a corpse, and
began to call out in a voice choking with rage,--
"Vengeance! Vengeance!"
Suddenly he threw himself in despair on his knees in the middle of the
room, and began to cry,--
"I vow to thee, O Lord Christ, to bend those traitors and gallop over
them with justice, with fire, and with sword, to cut them, while there
is breath in my throat, steam in my mouth, and life for me in this
world! So help me, O Nazarene King! Amen!"
Some kind of internal voice told him in that moment, "Serve the
country, vengeance afterward."
Pan Andrei's eyes were flaming, his lips were baked, and he trembled as
in a fever; he waved his hands, and talking with himself aloud, walked,
or rather ran, through the room, kicked the bed with his feet; at last
he threw himself once more on his knees.
"Inspire me, O Christ, what to do, lest I fall into frenzy."
At that moment came the report of a gun, which the forest echo threw
from pine-tree to pine-tree till it brought it like thunder to the
cabin.
Kmita sprang up, and seizing his sabre ran out.
"What is that?" asked he of the soldier standing at the threshold.
"A shot, Colonel."
"Where is Soroka?"
"He went to look for the letters."
"In what direction was the shot?"
The soldier pointed to the eastern part of the forest, which was
overgrown with dense underwood.
"There!"
At that moment was heard the tramp of horses not yet visible.
"Be on your guard!" cried Kmita.
But from out the thicket appeared Soroka, hurrying as fast as his horse
could gallop, and after him the other soldier. They rushed up to the
cabin, sprang from the horses, and from behind them, as from behind
breastworks, took aim at the thicket.
"What is there?" asked Kmita.
"A party is coming," answered Soroka.