in return for our discords and sins. All this rests on the shoulders of the king, and besides at the diets they reproach him for our faults. And why is he to blame because people will not obey him? Grievous times have come on the country, – such grievous times as have not been hitherto. Our most despicable enemy now despises us, – us who till recently carried on victorious wars against the Emperor of Turkey. This is the way that God punishes pride. Praise be to Him that my arm works well in its joints, – for it is high time to remember the country and move to the field. 'Tis a sin to be idle in time of such troubles."
"Do not mention going away."
"It is difficult to do otherwise. It is pleasant for me here among you; but the better it is, the worse it is. Let men in the Diet give wise reasons, but a soldier longs for the field. While there is life there is service. After death God, who looks into the heart, will reward best those who serve not for advancement, but through love of the country; and indeed the number of such is decreasing continually, and that is why the black hour has come."
Marysia's eyes began to grow moist; at last they were filled with tears which flowed down her rosy cheeks. "You will go and forget us, and we shall pine away here. Who in this place will defend us from attack?"
"I go, but I shall preserve my gratitude. It is rare to find such honest people as in Patsuneli. Are you always afraid of this Kmita?"
"Of course. Mothers frighten their children with him as with a werewolf."
"He will not come back, and even if he should he will not have with him those wild fellows, who, judging from what people say, were worse than he. It is a pity indeed that such a good soldier stained his reputation and lost his property."
"And the lady."
"And the lady. They say much good in her favor."
"Poor thing! for whole days she just cries and cries."
"H'm!" said Volodyovski; "but is she not crying for Kmita?"
"Who knows?" replied Marysia.
"So much the worse for her, for he will not come back. The hetman sent home a part of the Lauda men, and those forces are here now. We wanted to cut him down at once without the court. He must know that the Lauda men have returned, and he will not show even his nose."
"Likely our men must march again," said Terka, "for they received only leave to come home for a short time."
"Eh!" said Volodyovski, "the hetman let them come, for there is no money in the treasury. It is pure despair! When people are most needed they have to be sent away. But good-night! it is time to sleep, and let none of you dream of Pan Kmita with a fiery sword."
Volodyovski rose from the bench and prepared to leave the room, but had barely made a step toward the closet when suddenly there was a noise in the entrance and a shrill voice began to cry outside the door-
"Hei there! For God's mercy! open quickly, quickly!"
The girls were terribly frightened. Volodyovski sprang for his sabre to the closet, but had not been able to get it when Terka opened the door. An unknown man burst into the room and threw himself at the feet of the knight.
"Rescue, serene Colonel! – The lady is carried away!"
"What lady?"
"In Vodokty."
"Kmita!" cried Volodyovski.
"Kmita!" screamed the girls.
"Kmita!" repeated the messenger.
"Who art thou?" asked Volodyovski.
"The manager in Vodokty."
"We know him," said Terka; "he brought herbs for you."
Meanwhile the drowsy old Gashtovt came forth from behind the stove, and in the door appeared two attendants of Pan Volodyovski whom the uproar had drawn to the room.
"Saddle the horses!" cried Volodyovski. "Let one of you hurry to the Butryms, the other give a horse to me!"
"I have been already at the Butryms," said the manager, "for they are nearer to us; they sent me to your grace."
"When was the lady carried away?" asked Volodyovski.
"Just now-the servants are fighting yet-I rushed for a horse."
Old Gashtovt rubbed his eyes. "What's that? The lady carried off?"
"Yes; Kmita carried her off," answered Volodyovski. "Let us go to the rescue!" Then he turned to the messenger: "Hurry to the Domasheviches; let them come with muskets."
"Now, my kids," cried the old man suddenly to his daughters, "hurry to the village, wake up the nobles, let them take their sabres! Kmita has carried off the lady-is it possible-God forgive him, the murderer, the ruffian! Is it possible?"
"Let us go to rouse them," said Volodyovski; "that will be quicker! Come; the horses are ready, I hear them."
In a moment they mounted, as did also the two attendants, Ogarek and Syruts. All pushed on their way between the cottages of the village, striking the doors and windows, and crying with sky-piercing voices: "To your sabres, to your sabres! The lady of Vodokty is carried away! Kmita is in the neighborhood!"
Hearing these cries, this or that man rushed forth from his cottage, looked to see what was happening, and when he had learned what the matter was, fell to shouting himself, "Kmita is in the neighborhood; the lady is carried away!" And shouting in this fashion, he rushed headlong to the out-buildings to saddle his horse, or to his cottage to feel in the dark for his sabre on the wall. Every moment more voices cried, "Kmita is in the neighborhood!" There was a stir in the village, lights began to shine, the cry of women was heard, the barking of dogs. At last the nobles came out on the road, – some mounted, some on foot. Above the multitude of heads glittered in the night sabres, pikes, darts, and even iron forks.
Volodyovski surveyed the company, sent some of them immediately in different directions, and moved forward himself with the rest.
The mounted men rode in front, those on foot followed, and they marched toward Volmontovichi to join the Butryms. The hour was ten in the evening, and the night clear, though the moon had not risen. Those of the nobles whom the grand hetman had sent recently from the war dropped into ranks at once; the others, namely the infantry, advanced with less regularity, making a clatter with their weapons, talking and yawning aloud, at times cursing that devil of a Kmita who had robbed them of pleasant rest. In this fashion they reached Volmontovichi, at the edge of which an armed band pushed out to meet them.
"Halt! who goes?" called voices from that band.
"The Gashtovts!"
"We are the Butryms. The Domasheviches have come already."
"Who is leading you?" asked Volodyovski.
"Yuzva the Footless at the service of the colonel."
"Have you news?"
"He took her to Lyubich. They went through the swamp to avoid Volmontovichi."
"To Lyubich?" asked Volodyovski, in wonder. "Can he think of defending himself there? Lyubich is not a fortress, is it?"
"It seems he trusts in his strength. There are two hundred with him. No
