The Deluge: An Historical Novel of Poland, Sweden, and Russia. Vol. 1 (of 2)

by Henryk Sienkiewicz

  CHAPTER XXIX.

  Silence succeeded; but soon something began to rustle in the nearthicket, as if wild beasts were passing. The movement, however, grewslower the nearer it came. Then there was silence a second time.

  "How many of them are there?" asked Kmita. "About six, and perhapseight; for to tell the truth I could not count them surely," saidSoroka.

  "That is our luck! They cannot stand against us."

  "They cannot. Colonel; but we must take one of them alive, and scorchhim so that he will show the road."

  "There will be time for that. Be watchful!"

  Kmita had barely said, "Be watchful," when a streak of white smokebloomed forth from the thicket, and you would have said that birds hadfluttered in the near grass, about thirty yards from the cabin.

  "They shot from old guns, with hob-nails!" said Kmita; "if they havenot muskets, they will do nothing to us, for old guns will not carryfrom the thicket."

  Soroka, holding with one hand the musket resting on the saddle of thehorse standing in front of him, placed the other hand in the form of atrumpet before his mouth, and shouted,--

  "Let any man come out of the bushes, he will cover himself with hislegs right away."

  A moment of silence followed; then a threatening voice was heard in thethicket,--

  "What kind of men are you?"

  "Better than those who rob on the highroad."

  "By what right have you found out our dwelling?"

  "A robber asks about right! The hangman will show you right! Come tothe cabin."

  "We will smoke you out just as if you were badgers."

  "But come on; only see that the smoke does not stifle you too."

  The voice in the thicket was silent; the invaders, it seemed, had begunto take counsel. Meanwhile Soroka whispered to Kmita,--

  "We must decoy some one hither, and bind him; we shall then have aguide and a hostage."

  "Pshaw!" answered Kmita, "if any one comes it will be on parole."

  "With robbers parole may be broken."

  "It is better not to give it!" said Kmita.

  With that questions sounded again from the thicket.

  "What do you want?"

  Now Kmita began to speak. "We should have gone as we came if you hadknown politeness and not fired from a gun."

  "You will not stay there,--there will be a hundred horse of us in theevening."

  "Before evening two hundred dragoons will come, and your swamps willnot save you, for they will pass as we passed."

  "Are you soldiers?"

  "We are not robbers, you may be sure."

  "From what squadron?"

  "But are you hetman? We will not report to you."

  "The wolves will devour you, in old fashion."

  "And the crows will pick you!"

  "Tell what you want, a hundred devils! Why did you come to our cabin?"

  "Come yourselves, and you will not split your throat crying from thethicket. Nearer, nearer!"

  "On your word."

  "A word is for knights, not for robbers. If it please you, believe; ifnot, believe not."

  "May two come?"

  "They may."

  After a while from out the thicket a hundred yards distant appeared twomen, tall and broad-shouldered. One somewhat bent seemed to be a man ofyears; the other went upright, but stretched his neck with curiositytoward the cabin. Both wore short sheepskin coats covered with graycloth of the kind used by petty nobles, high cowhide boots, and furcaps drawn down to their ears.

  "What the devil!" said Kmita, examining the two men with care.

  "Colonel!" cried Soroka, "a miracle indeed, but those are our people."

  Meanwhile they approached within a few steps, but could not see the menstanding near the cabin, for the horses concealed them.

  All at once Kmita stepped forward. Those approaching did not recognizehim, however, for his face was bound up; they halted, and began tomeasure him with curious and unquiet eyes.

  "And where is the other son, Pan Kyemlich?" asked Kmita; "he has notfallen, I hope."

  "Who is that--how is that--what--who is talking?" asked the old man, ina voice of amazement and as it were terrified.

  And he stood motionless, with mouth and eyes widely open; then the son,who since he was younger had quicker vision, took the cap from hishead.

  "For God's sake, father! that's the colonel!" cried he.

  "O Jesus! sweet Jesus!" cried the old man, "that is Pan Kmita!"

  And both took the fixed posture of subordinates saluting theircommanders, and on their faces were depicted both shame and wonder.

  "Ah! such sons," said Pan Andrei, laughing, "and greeted me from agun?"

  Here the old man began to shout,--

  "Come this way, all of you! Come!"

  From the thicket appeared a number of men, among whom were the secondson of the old man and the pitch-maker; all ran up at breakneck speedwith weapons ready, for they knew not what had happened. But the oldman shouted again,--

  "To your knees, rogues, to your knees! This is Pan Kmita! What fool wasit who fired? Give him this way!"

  "It was you, father," said young Kyemlich.

  "You lie,--you lie like a dog! Pan Colonel, who could know that it wasyour grace who had come to our cabin? As God is true, I do not believemy own eyes yet."

  "I am here in person," answered Kmita, stretching his hand toward him.

  "O Jesus!" said the old man, "such a guest in the pine-woods. I cannotbelieve my own eyes. With what can we receive your grace here? If weexpected, if we knew!"

  Here he turned to his sons: "Run, some blockhead, to the cellar, bringmead!"

  "Give the key to the padlock, father."

  The old man began to feel in his belt, and at the same time lookedsuspiciously at his son.

  "The key of the padlock? But I know thee, gypsy; thou wilt drink morethyself than thou'lt bring. What's to be done? I'll go myself; he wantsthe key of the padlock! But go roll off the logs, and I'll open andbring it myself."

  "I see that you have spoons hidden under the logs, Pan Kyemlich," saidKmita.

  "But can anything be kept from such robbers!" asked the old man,pointing to the sons. "They would eat up their father. Ye are stillhere? Go roll away the logs. Is this the way ye obey him who begatyou?"

  The young men went quickly behind the cabin to the pile of logs.

  "You are in disagreement with your sons in old fashion, it seems?" saidKmita.

  "Who could be in agreement with them? They know how to fight, they knowhow to take booty; but when it comes to divide with their father, Imust tear my part from them at risk of my life. Such is the pleasure Ihave; but they are like wild bulls. I beg your grace to the cabin, forthe cold bites out here. For God's sake! such a guest, such a guest!And under the command of your grace we took more booty than during thiswhole year. We are in poverty now, wretchedness! Evil times, and alwaysworse; and old age, too, is no joy. I beg you to the cabin, over ourlowly threshold. For God's sake! who could have looked for your gracehere!"

  Old Kyemlich spoke with a marvellously rapid and complaining utterance,and while speaking cast quick, restless glances on every side. He was abony old man, enormous in stature, with a face ever twisted and sullen!He, as well as his two sons, had crooked eyes. His brows were bushy,and also his mustaches, from beneath which protruded beyond measure anunderlip, which when he spoke came to his nose, as happens with men whoare toothless. The agedness of his face was in wonderful contrast tothe quickness of his movements, which displayed unusual strength andalertness. His movements were as rapid as if a spring stirred him; heturned his head continually, trying to take in with his eyes everythingaround,--men as well as things. Toward Kmita he became every minutemore humble, in proportion as subservience to his former leader, fear,and perhaps admiration or attachment were roused in him.

  Kmita knew the Kyemliches well, for the father and two sons had servedunder him when single-handed he had carried on war in Whi
te Russia withHovanski. They were valiant soldiers, and as cruel as valiant. One son,Kosma, was standard-bearer for a time in Kmita's legion; but he soonresigned that honorable office, since it prevented him from takingbooty. Among the gamblers and unbridled souls who formed Kmita'slegion, and who drank away and lost in the day what they won with bloodin the night from the enemy, the Kyemliches were distinguished formighty greed. They accumulated booty carefully, and hid it in thewoods. They took with special eagerness horses, which they soldafterward at country houses and in towns. The father fought no worsethan the twin sons, but after each battle he dragged away from them themost considerable part of the booty, scattering at the same timecomplaints and regrets that they were wronging him, threatening afather's curse, groaning and lamenting. The sons grumbled at him, butbeing sufficiently stupid by nature they let themselves be tyrannizedover. In spite of their endless squabbles and scoldings, they stood up,one for the other, in battle venomously without sparing blood. Theywere not liked by their comrades, but were feared universally, for inquarrels they were terrible; even officers avoided provoking them.Kmita was the one man who had roused indescribable fear in them, andafter Kmita, Pan Ranitski, before whom they trembled when from angerhis face was covered with spots. They revered also in both lofty birth;for the Kmitas, from old times, had high rank in Orsha, and in Ranitskiflowed senatorial blood.

  It was said in the legion that they had collected great treasures, butno one knew surely that there was truth in this statement. On a certainday Kmita sent them away with attendants and a herd of captured horses;from that time they vanished. Kmita thought that they had fallen; hissoldiers said that they had escaped with the horses, the temptation inthis case being too great for their hearts. Now, as Pan Andrei saw themin health, and as in a shed near the cabin horses were neighing, andthe rejoicing and subservience of the old man were mingled withdisquiet, he thought that his soldiers were right in their judgment.Therefore, when they had entered the cabin he sat on a plank bed, andputting his hands on his sides, looked straight into the old man's eyesand asked,--

  "Kyemlich, where are my horses?"

  "Jesus! sweet Jesus!" groaned the old man. "Zolotarenko's men took thehorses; they beat us and wounded us, drove us ninety miles; we hardlyescaped with our lives. Oh, Most Holy Mother! we could not find eitheryour grace or your men. They drove us thus far into these pine-woods,into misery and hunger, to this cabin and these swamps. God is kindthat your grace is living and in health, though, I see, wounded. Maybewe can nurse you, and put on herbs; and those sons of mine went to rolloff the logs, and they have disappeared. What are the rogues doing?They are ready to take out the door and get at the mead. Hunger hereand misery; nothing more! We live on mushrooms; but for your gracethere will be something to drink and a bite to eat. Those men took thehorses from us, robbed us,--there is no denying that! And they deprivedus of service with your grace. We shall not have a bit of bread for oldage, unless your grace takes us back into service."

  "That may happen too," answered Kmita.

  Now the two sons of the old man came in,--Kosma and Damian, twins, bigfellows, awkward, with enormous heads completely overgrown with animmensely thick bush of hair, stiff as a brush, sticking out unevenlyaround the ears, forming hair-screws and fantastic tufts on theirskulls. When they came in they stood near the door, for in presence ofKmita they dared not sit down; and Damian said,--

  "The cellar is cleared."

  "'Tis well," answered old Kyemlich, "I will go to bring mead."

  Here he looked significantly at his sons.

  "And Zolotarenko's men took the horses," said he, with emphasis; andwent out of the cabin.

  Kmita glanced at the two who stood by the door, and who looked as ifthey had been hewn out of logs roughly with an axe.

  "What are you doing now?"

  "We take horses!" answered the twins at the same time.

  "From whom?"

  "From whomsoever comes along."

  "But mostly?"

  "From Zolotarenko's men."

  "That is well, you are free to take from the enemy; but if you takefrom your own you are robbers, not nobles. What do you do with thosehorses?"

  "Father sells them in Prussia."

  "Has it happened to you to take from the Swedes? Swedish companies arenot far from here. Have you attacked the Swedes?"

  "We have."

  "Then you fall on single men or small companies; but when they defendthemselves, what then?"

  "We pound them."

  "Ah, ha, you pound them! Then you have a reckoning with Zolotarenko'smen and with the Swedes, and surely you could not have got away dry hadyou fallen into their hands."

  Kosma and Damian were silent.

  "You are carrying on a dangerous business, more becoming to robbersthan nobles. It must be, also, that some sentences are hanging over youfrom old times?"

  "Of course there are!" answered Kosma and Damian.

  "So I thought. From what parts are you?"

  "We are from these parts."

  "Where did your father live before?"

  "In Borovichko."

  "Was that his village?"

  "Yes, together with Pan Kopystynski."

  "And what became of him?"

  "We killed him."

  "And you had to flee before the law. It will be short work with youKyemliches, and you'll finish on trees. The hangman will light you, itcannot be otherwise!"

  Just then the door of the room creaked, and the old man came inbringing a decanter of mead and two glasses. He looked unquietly at hissons and at Kmita, and then said,--

  "Go and cover the cellar."

  The twins went out at once. The old man poured mead into one glass; theother he left empty, waiting to see if Kmita would let him drink withhim.

  But Kmita was not able to drink himself, for he even spoke withdifficulty, such pain did the wound cause him. Seeing this, the old mansaid,--

  "Mead is not good for the wound, unless poured in, to clear it out morequickly. Your grace, let me look at the wound and dress it, for Iunderstand this matter as well as a barber."

  Kmita consented. Kyemlich removed the bandage, and began to examine thewound carefully.

  "The skin is taken off, that's nothing! The ball passed along theoutside; but still it is swollen."

  "That is why it pains me."

  "But it is not two days old. Most Holy Mother! some one who must havebeen very near shot at your grace."

  "How do you know that?"

  "Because all the powder was not burned, and grains like cockle areunder the skin. They will stay with your grace. Now we need only breadand spider-web. Terribly near was the man who fired. It is well that hedid not kill your grace."

  "It was not fated me. Mix the bread and the spider-web and put them onas quickly as possible, for I must talk with you, and my jaws pain me."

  The old man looked suspiciously at the colonel, for in his heart therewas fear that the talk might touch again on the horses said to havebeen taken by the Cossacks; but he busied himself at once, kneaded themoistened bread first, and since it was not hard to find spider-webs inthe cabin he attended promptly to Kmita.

  "I am easy now," said Pan Andrei; "sit down, worthy Kyemlich."

  "According to command of the colonel," answered the old man, sitting onthe edge of a bench and stretching out his iron-gray bristly headuneasily toward Kmita.

  But Kmita, instead of conversing, took his own head in his hands andfell into deep thought. Then he rose and began to walk in the room; atmoments he halted before Kyemlich and gazed at him with distraughtlook; apparently he was weighing something, wrestling with thoughts.Meanwhile about half an hour passed; the old man squirmed more and moreuneasily. All at once Kmita stopped before him.

  "Worthy Kyemlich," said he, "where are the nearest of those squadronswhich rose up against the prince voevoda of Vilna?"

  The old man began to wink his eyes suspiciously. "Does your grace wishto go to them?"

  "I do not request yo
u to ask, but to answer."

  "They say that one squadron is quartered in Shchuchyn,--that one whichcame here last from Jmud."

  "Who said so?"

  "The men of the squadron themselves."

  "Who led it?"

  "Pan Volodyovski."

  "That's well. Call Soroka!"

  The old man went out, and returned soon with the sergeant.

  "Have the letters been found?" asked Kmita.

  "They have not, Colonel," answered Soroka.

  Kmita shook his hands. "Oh, misery, misery! You may go, Soroka. Forthose letters which you have lost you deserve to hang. You may go.Worthy Kyemlich, have you anything on which to write?"

  "I hope to find something," answered the old man.

  "Even two leaves of paper and a pen."

  The old man vanished through the door of a closet which was evidently astoreroom for all kinds of things, but he searched long. Kmita waswalking the while through the room, and talking to himself,--

  "Whether I have the letters or not," said he, "the hetman does not knowthat they are lost, and he will fear lest I publish them. I have him inhand. Cunning against cunning! I will threaten to send them to thevoevoda of Vityebsk. That is what I will do. In God is my hope, thatthe hetman will fear this."

  Further thought was interrupted by old Kyemlich, who, coming out of thecloset, said,--

  "Here are three leaves of paper, but no pens or ink."

  "No pens? But are there no birds in the woods here? They may be shotwith a gun."

  "There is a falcon nailed over the shed."

  "Bring his wing hither quickly!"

  Kyemlich shot off with all speed, for in the voice of Kmita wasimpatience, and as it were a fever. He returned in a moment with thefalcon's wing. Kmita seized it, plucked out a quill, and began to makea pen of it with his dagger.

  "It will do!" said he, looking at it before the light; "but it iseasier to cut men's heads than quills. Now we need ink."

  So saying, he rolled up his sleeve, cut himself deeply in the arm, andmoistened the quill in blood.

  "Worthy Kyemlich," said he, "leave me."

  The old man left the room, and Pan Andrei began to write at once:--

  I renounce the service of your highness, for I will not serve traitorsand deceivers. And if I swore on the crucifix not to leave yourhighness, God will forgive me; and even if he were to damn me, I wouldrather burn for my error than for open and purposed treason to mycountry and king. Your highness deceived me, so that I was like a blindsword in your hand, ready to spill the blood of my brethren. ThereforeI summon your highness to the judgment of God, so that it may be knownon whose side was treason, and on whose honest intention. Should weever meet, though you are powerful and able to strike unto death, notonly a private man, but the whole Commonwealth, and I have only a sabrein my hand, still I will vindicate my own, and will strike yourhighness, for which my regret and compunction will give me power. Andyour highness knows that I am of those who without attendant squadrons,without castles and cannon, can injure. While in me there is breath,over you there is vengeance, so that you can be sure neither of the daynor the hour. And this is as certain to be as that this is my own bloodwith which I write. I have your letters, letters to ruin you, not onlywith the King of Poland, but the King of Sweden, for in them treason tothe Commonwealth is made manifest, as well as this too, that you areready to desert the Swedes if only a leg totters under them. Even hadyou twice your present power, your ruin is in my hands, for all menmust believe signatures and seals. Therefore I say this to yourhighness: If a hair falls from the heads which I love and which areleft in Kyedani, I will send those letters and documents to PanSapyeha, and I will have copies printed and scattered through the land.Your highness can go by land or water (you have your choice); but afterthe war, when peace comes to the Commonwealth, you will give me theBilleviches, and I will give you the letters, or if I hear evil tidingsPan Sapyeha will show them straightway to Pontus de la Gardie. Yourhighness wants a crown, but where will you put it when your head fallseither from the Polish or the Swedish axe? It is better, I think, tohave this understanding now; though I shall not forget revengehereafter, I shall take it only in private, excepting this case. Iwould commend you to God were it not that you put the help of the devilabove that of God. Kmita.

  P. S. Your highness will not poison the confederates, for there will bethose who, going from the service of the devil to that of God, willforewarn them to drink beer neither in Orel nor Zabludovo.

  Here Kmita sprang up and began to walk across the room. His face wasburning, for his own letter had heated him like fire. This letter was adeclaration of war against the Radzivills; but still Kmita felt inhimself some extraordinary power, and was ready, even at that moment,to stand eye to eye before that powerful family who shook the wholecountry. He, a simple noble, a simple knight, an outlaw pursued byjustice, who expected assistance from no place, who had offended all sothat everywhere he was accounted an enemy,--he, recently overthrown,felt in himself now such power that he saw, as if with the eyes of aprophet, the humiliation of Prince Yanush and Boguslav, and his ownvictory. How he would wage war, where he would find allies, in what wayhe would conquer, he knew not,--what is more, he had not thought ofthis. But he had profound faith that he would do what he ought todo,--that is, what is right and just, in return for which God would bewith him. He was filled with confidence beyond measure and bounds. Ithad become sensibly easier in his soul. Certain new regions were openedas it were entirely before him. Let him but sit on his horse and ridethither to honor, to glory, to Olenka.

  "But a hair will not fall from her head," repeated he to himself, witha certain feverish joy; "the letters will defend her. The hetman willguard her as the eye in his head,--as I myself would. Oh, I havesettled this! I am a poor worm, but they will be afraid of my sting."

  Then this thought came to him: "And shall I write to her too? Themessenger who will take the letter to the hetman can give a slip ofpaper to her secretly. Why not inform her that I have broken with theRadzivills, and that I am going to seek other service?"

  This thought struck his heart greatly. Cutting his arm again, hemoistened the pen and began to write,--

  Olenka,--I am no longer on the Radzivill side, for I have seen throughthem at last--

  But suddenly he stopped, thought awhile, and said to himself, "Letdeeds, not words, bear witness for me henceforth; I will not write."And he tore the paper. But he wrote on a third sheet a short letter toVolodyovski in the following words,--

  Gracious Colonel,--The undersigned friend warns you and the othercolonels to be on your guard. There were letters from the hetman toPrince Boguslav and Pan Harasimovich to poison you, or to have menunder you in your own quarters. Harasimovich is absent, for he has gonewith Prince Boguslav to Tyltsa in Prussia; but there may be similarcommands to other managers. Be careful of those managers, receivenothing from them, and at night do not sleep without guards. I knowalso to a certainty that the hetman will march against you soon with anarmy; he is waiting only for cavalry which General de la Gardie is tosend, fifteen hundred in number. See to it, therefore, that he does notfall upon you and destroy you singly. But better send reliable men tothe voevoda of Vityebsk to come, with all haste and take chief command.A well-wisher counsels this,--believe him. Meanwhile keep together,choosing quarters for the squadrons one not far from the other, so thatyou may be able to give mutual assistance. The hetman has few cavalry,only a small number of dragoons, and Kmita's men, but they are notreliable. Kmita himself is absent. The hetman found some other officefor him; it being likely that he does not trust him. Kmita too is notsuch a traitor as men say; he is merely led astray. I commit you toGod.

  Babinich.

  Pan Andrei did not wish to put his own name to the letter, for hejudged that it would rouse in each one aversion and especiallydistrust. "In case they understand," thought he, "that it would bebetter for them to retreat before the hetman
than to meet him in abody, they will suspect at once, if they see my name, that I wish tocollect them, so that the hetman may finish them at a blow; they willthink this a new trick, but from some Babinich they will receivewarning more readily."

  Pan Andrei called himself Babinich from the village Babiniche, nearOrsha, which from remote times belonged to the Kmitas.

  When he had written the letter, at the end of which he placed a fewtimid words in his own defence, he felt new solace in his heart at thethought that with that letter he had rendered the first service, notonly to Volodyovski and his friends, but to all the colonels who wouldnot desert their country for Radzivill. He felt also that that threadwould go farther. The plight into which he had fallen was difficult,indeed, almost desperate; but still there was some help, some issue,some narrow path which would lead to the highroad.

  But now when Olenka in all probability was safe from the vengeance ofRadzivill, and the confederates from an unexpected attack. Pan Andreiput the question, What was he to do himself?

  He had broken with traitors, he had burned the bridges in the rear, hewished now to serve his country, to devote to it his strength, hishealth, his life; but how was he to do this, how begin, to what couldhe put his hand?

  Again it came to his head to join the confederates; but if they willnot receive him, if they will proclaim him a traitor and cut him down,or what is worse, expel him in disgrace?

  "I would rather they killed me!" cried Pan Andrei; and he flushed fromshame and the feeling of his own disgrace. Perhaps it is easier to saveOlenka or the confederates than his own fame.

  Now the position was really desperate, and again the young hero's soulbegan to seethe.

  "But can I not act as I did against Hovanski?" asked he of himself. "Iwill gather a party, will attack the Swedes, burn, pursue. That isnothing new for me! No one has resisted them; I will resist until thetime comes when the whole Commonwealth will ask, as did Lithuania, whois that hero who all alone dares to creep into the mouth of the lion?Then I will remove my cap and say, 'See, it is I, it is Kmita!'"

  And such a burning desire drew him on to that bloody work that hewished to rush out of the room and order the Kyemliches, theirattendants, and his own men to mount and move on. But before he reachedthe door he felt as if some one had suddenly punched him in the breastand pushed him back from the threshold. He stood in the middle of theroom, and looked forward in amazement.

  "How is this? Shall I not efface my offences in this way?"

  And at once he began to reckon with his own conscience.

  "Where is atonement for guilt?" asked his conscience. "Here somethingelse is required!"

  "What?" asked Kmita.

  "With what can thy guilt be effaced, if not with service of some kind,difficult and immense, honorable and pure as a tear? Is it service tocollect a band of ruffians and rage like a whirlwind with them throughthe fields and the wilderness? Dost thou not desire this becausefighting has for thee a sweet odor, as has roast meat for a dog? Thatis amusement, not service; a carnival, not war; robbery, not defence ofthe country! And didst thou not do the same against Hovanski, but whatdidst thou gain? Ruffians infesting the forests are ready also toattack the Swedish commands, and whence canst thou get other men? Thouwilt attack the Swedes, but also the inhabitants; thou wilt bringvengeance on these inhabitants, and what wilt thou effect? Thou arttrying to escape, thou fool, from toil and atonement."

  So conscience spoke in Kmita; and Kmita saw that it was right, andvexation seized him, and a species of grief over his own consciencebecause it spoke such bitter truth.

  "What shall I begin?" asked he, at last; "who will help me, who willsave me?"

  Here somehow his knees began to bend till at last he knelt down at theplank bed and began to pray aloud, and implore from his whole soul andheart,--

  "O Jesus Christ, dear Lord," said he, "as on the cross thou hadst pityfor the thief, so now have pity for me. Behold I desire to cleansemyself from sins, to begin a new life, and to serve my countryhonestly; but I know not how, for I am foolish. I served thosetraitors, O Lord, also not so much from malice, but especially as itwere through folly; enlighten me, inspire me, comfort me in my despair,and rescue me in thy mercy, or I perish."

  Here Pan Andrei's voice quivered; he beat his broad breast till itthundered in the room, and repeated, "Be merciful to me, a sinner! bemerciful to me, a sinner! Be merciful to me, a sinner!" Then placinghis hands together and stretching them upward, he said, "And thou, MostHoly Lady, insulted by heretics in this land, take my part with thySon, intercede for my rescue, desert me not in my suffering and misery,so that I may be able to serve thee, to avenge the insults againstthee, and at the hour of my death have thee as a patroness for myunhappy soul."

  When Pan Andrei was imploring thus, tears began to fall from his eyes;at last he dropped his head on the plank bed and sank into silence, asif waiting for the effect of his ardent prayer. Silence followed in theroom, and only the deep sound of the neighboring pine-trees enteredfrom outside. Then chips crackled under heavy steps beyond the window,and two men began to speak,--

  "What do you think, Sergeant? Where shall we go from here?"

  "Do I know?" answered Soroka. "We shall go somewhere, maybe far off, tothe king who is groaning under the Swedish hand."

  "Is it true that all have left him?"

  "But the Lord God has not left him."

  Kmita rose suddenly from the bed, but his face was clear and calm; hewent straight to the door, and opening it said to the soldier,--

  "Have the horses ready! it is time for the road!"