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  “I should permit you to go on your own account and give you men; but since you have planned everything so cleverly that your personal affection agrees with your office, I must arrange this affair for you.”

  Then he clapped his hands and commanded the page to call Pan Bykhovets.

  The lieutenant kissed the prince’s hand with joy. Yeremi took him by the head and commanded him to be quiet. He loved Skshetuski beyond measure as a splendid soldier and officer whom he could trust in all things. Besides, there was between them that bond which is formed between a subordinate reverencing his chief with his whole soul and a chief who feels this clearly. There were not a few courtiers and flatterers who circled around the prince for their own profit; but the eagle eye of Yeremi knew well whom to choose. He knew that Pan Yan was a man without blemish; he valued him, and was grateful to him for his feelings. He rejoiced, too, that his favorite had fallen in love with the daughter of the old servant of the Vishnyevetskis, Vassily Kurtsevich, whose memory was the dearer because of its sadness.

  “It was not from ungratefulness to the prince,” said he, “that I made no inquiry concerning his daughter. Since the guardians did not visit Lubni, and I received no complaint against them, I supposed they were good people. But as you have put me in mind of the lady, I will care for her as for my own daughter.”

  Skshetuski, hearing this, could not admire sufficiently the kindness of the prince, who reproached himself, notwithstanding the multitude of his occupations, with inattention to the child of his former soldier and official.

  Bykhovets now came in.

  “Well,” said the prince, “my word is given, and if you wish to go you will go; but I ask you to do this for me: yield your mission to Skshetuski, — he has his own special and solid reasons for wanting it, — and I will think of another reward for you.”

  “Oh, your Highness,” said Bykhovets, “your favor is great; for while able to command, you ask that which if I refused to give I should be unworthy of your favor.”

  “Thank your friend,” said the prince, turning to Pan Yan, “and prepare for the road.”

  Skshetuski thanked Bykhovets heartily indeed, and in a few hours he was ready. For some time it had been irksome for him in Lubni, and this expedition accorded with all his wishes. First, he was to see Helena. True, he had to go from her for a long time; but just such an interval was needed to make the roads passable for wheels, after such measureless rains. The princess and Helena could not come earlier to Lubni. Skshetuski therefore must either wait in Lubni or live at Rozlogi, — which would be against his covenant with the princess, and, what was more, rouse the suspicions of Bogun. Helena could be really safe against his attacks only in Lubni; but since she must in every case wait some time yet in Rozlogi, it appeared best to Pan Yan to depart, and on his return take her under the protection of the armed power of the prince. Having settled the matter thus, the lieutenant hastened his journey, — got everything ready, took letters and instructions from the prince, money for expenses from the treasurer, and made a good start over the road before night, having with him Jendzian and forty horsemen from the Cossack regiment.

  CHAPTER VII.

  It was now the second half of March; the grass was growing luxuriantly, the field-roller was blooming, the steppe was stirring with life. In the morning the lieutenant, travelling at the head of his men, rode as if over a sea whose moving wave was the wind-stirred grass. Every place was filled with joy and the voices of spring, — chirruping, whistling, clattering, the shaking of wings, the glad hum of insects; the steppe sounded like a lyre touched by the hand of the Lord. Above the heads of the horsemen floated falcons motionless in the blue ether, like suspended crosses, triangles of wild geese, lines of storks; and on the ground the coursing of flocks run wild. Behold, a herd of steppe horses rush on! They move like a storm, stop before the mounted men in a half-circle suddenly, as if spiked to the earth, their manes spread to the wind, their nostrils dilated, their eyes full of wonder. You would say they are here to trample the unbidden guests. But a moment more they are gone, vanishing as suddenly as they came. Now we have only the sound of the grass and the gleam of the flowers; the clatter is still. Again nothing is heard save the play of birds. The land seems full of joy; yet a kind of sadness is in that joy. It seems crowded, and it is an empty land. Oh, it is wide, and it is roomy! With a horse you cannot surround it; in thought you cannot grasp it, — unless you love the sadness, the desert, and the steppes, and with yearning soul circle above them, linger upon their gravemounds, hearken to their voices, and give answer.

  It was early morning. Great drops glittered on the grass and reeds; the quick movement of the wind dried the ground, on which after the rains broad ponds were spread, like lakes shining in the sun. The retinue of the lieutenant moved on slowly, for it was difficult to hasten when the horses sank to their knees at times in the soft earth; and he gave them only short resting-spells on the grave-mounds, for he was hastening to a greeting and a parting.

  The second day, about noon, after he had passed a strip of forest, he saw the windmills of Rozlogi scattered on the hillsides and mounds. His heart beat like a hammer. No one there expected him; no one knew he was coming. What will she say when she sees him? Now he beholds the cottages of the neighbors, nearly hidden, covered in the cherry-orchards; farther on is a straggling village of cottages; and still farther is seen the well-sweep on the square in front of the house. The lieutenant, putting spurs to his horse, galloped swiftly; and after him flew his suite through the village with a clatter and a noise. Here and there a peasant, rushing out of his cottage, made a sign of the cross. Devils! — not devils? Tartars! — not Tartars? The mud spatters from under their hoofs so that you don’t know who is hurrying on. Meanwhile they are at the square, and have halted before the closed gate.

  “Hallo there! Who lives, open!”

  The bustle and pounding, the barking of dogs, called out the people from the house. They hurried to the gate frightened, thinking it was an attack.

  “Who goes?”

  “Open!”

  “The princes are not at home.”

  “But open, you son of an infidel! We are from the prince at Lubni.”

  The servants at last recognized Skshetuski. “Oh, that is you! Right away! right away!”

  The gate was thrown open. Then the princess herself appeared before the entrance, and shading her eyes with her hand, looked at the new-comers.

  Skshetuski sprang from his horse, and coming up to her said: “Don’t you know me?”

  “Oh! that is you. Lieutenant. I thought it was a Tartar raid. I salute you and beg you to enter.”

  “You wonder, no doubt,” said Pan Yan, “at seeing me in Rozlogi. Still I have not broken my word, for the prince sends me to Chigirin and farther. He asked me also to stop at Rozlogi and inquire for your health.”

  “I am thankful to his Highness. Does he think of driving us from Rozlogi soon?”

  “He doesn’t think of it at all, for he knows of no cause to drive you out; and what I have said will take place. You will remain in Rozlogi; I have bread enough of my own.”

  Hearing this, the princess grew good-humored at once, and said: “Be seated, and be as glad as I am to see you.”

  “Is Princess Helena well? Where is she?”

  “I know you. You have not come to see me, my cavalier. She is in good health, she is well; the girl has improved in appearance. But I’ll call her to you this minute, and I’ll dress a little myself, for I am ashamed to receive guests in this gown.”

  The princess was wearing a faded dress, with a fur coat outside, and heavy boots.

  At this moment Helena, though not called, rushed into the room; for she had heard from the old Tartar, Chehly, who the visitor was. She ran in panting, and red as a cherry, barely able to catch her breath, but her eyes were laughing from happiness and joy. Skshetuski sprang to her hand, and when the princess had withdrawn discreetly, kissed her on the lips, for he was an impulsive man. Sh
e did not defend herself vigorously, feeling that weakness had come upon her from an overflow of happiness and joy.

  “I did not expect to see you,” whispered she, half closing her eyes. “But don’t kiss me that way, for it isn’t proper.”

  “Why shouldn’t I kiss when honey is not half so sweet? I thought I should wither away without you, till the prince himself sent me here.”

  “What does the prince know?”

  “I told him all, and he was glad when he remembered your father. Oh, you must have given me some herb, my girl, for I cannot see the light of day on account of you.”

  “Your blindness is a favor from God.”

  “But do you remember that omen which the falcon gave when she drew our hands together? It was destiny beyond a doubt.”

  “I remember.”

  “When at Lubni I used to go from sadness to Solonitsa and see you there just as if present, if I stretched forth my hand you disappeared; but you will not escape me again, for I think that nothing will stand in our way now.”

  “If anything does, it will not be my will.”

  “Tell me again that you love me.”

  Helena dropped her eyes, but answered with dignity and decision: “As nobody in the world.”

  “If any one should surround me with honor and gold, I should prefer those words of yours; for I feel that you speak the truth, though I do not know why I deserve such favor from you.”

  “Because you had pity on me, drew me to you, took my part, and spoke words such as I had never heard before.”

  Helena was silent from emotion, and the lieutenant began again to kiss her hand.

  “You will be my ruler, not my wife.”

  They were silent for a while, but he did not take his eyes from her, wishing to make up for the long time in which he had not seen her. She seemed to him more beautiful than before. In that dim room, in the sunlight broken into rays by the glass window-panes, she looked like those pictures of holy virgins in dusky chapels. At the same time such warmth and life surrounded her, so many splendid womanly graces and charms were pictured in her face and whole form, that it was possible to lose one’s head, fall desperately in love with her, and love forever.

  “I shall lose my sight from your beauty,” said the lieutenant.

  The white teeth of the princess glittered joyously in a smile. “Undoubtedly Anusia Borzobogata is a hundred times better looking than I!”

  “She is to you as a pewter plate to the moon.”

  “But Jendzian told me a different story.”

  “Jendzian deserves a slap on the mouth. What do I care for her? Let other bees take honey from that flower, and there are plenty of them there.”

  Further conversation was interrupted by the entrance of old Chehly, who came to greet the lieutenant. He looked on him already as his future master, and he bowed to him at the threshold, giving the salaam in Oriental fashion.

  “Well, old Chehly, I take you too with your mistress. You will serve her till you die.”

  “She won’t have long to wait for my death; but while I live I will serve her. God is one!”

  “In a month or so, when I return from the Saitch, we will go to Lubni,” said the lieutenant, turning to Helena; “and there Mukhovetski is ready with his robes.”

  Helena was startled. “Then you are going to the Saitch?”

  “The prince sends me with letters. But have no fear; the person of an envoy is sacred, even among pagans. I should send you and the princess immediately to Lubni, but the roads are fearful. Even on horseback it is hard to get along.”

  “Will you stay long in Rozlogi?”

  “I leave this evening for Chigirin. The sooner I go the sooner I shall return. Besides, it is the prince’s service; neither my time nor will is at my disposal.”

  “Will you come to dinner, if you have had enough of billing and cooing?” said the princess, coming in. “Ho! ho! the young woman’s cheeks are red; ’tis evident you have not been idle, sir! Well, I’m not surprised at you.”

  Saying this, she stroked Helena affectionately on the shoulder, and they went to dinner. The princess was in perfectly good humor. She had given up Bogun long ago, and all was arranged now, owing to the liberality of the lieutenant, so that she could look on Rozlogi, “with its pine woods, forests, boundaries, and inhabitants,” as belonging to her and her sons, — no small property, indeed.

  The lieutenant asked for the princes, — whether they would return soon.

  “I expect them every day. They were angry at first with you, but afterward, when they scrutinized your acts, they conceived a great affection for you as their future relative; for in truth it is difficult in these mild times to find a man of such daring.”

  After dinner the lieutenant and Helena went to the cherry orchard, which came up to the ditch beyond the square. The orchard was covered with early white blossoms as if with snow; beyond the orchard was a dark oak grove in which a cuckoo was heard.

  “That is a happy augury for us,” said Skshetuski, “but we must make the inquiry.” And turning to the oak grove, he asked: “Good cuckoo, how many years shall I live in marriage with this lady?”

  The cuckoo began to call, and counted fifty and more.

  “God grant it!”

  “The cuckoo always tells the truth,” remarked Helena.

  “If that’s the case, I’ll ask another question,” said the enamoured lieutenant.

  “No, it is not necessary.”

  In converse and merriment like this the day passed as a dream. In the evening came the moment of tender and long parting, and the lieutenant set out for Chigirin.

  CHAPTER VIII.

  In Chigirin, Skshetuski found the old man Zatsvilikhovski in great excitement and fever. He looked impatiently at the prince’s envoy, for tidings more and more terrible kept coming from the Saitch. There was no doubt that Hmelnitski was preparing to demand with armed hand justice for himself and the ancient rights of the Cossacks. Zatsvilikhovski had news that he had been with the Khan in the Crimea to beg Tartar aid, with which he was expected every day in the Saitch. Then there would be a general campaign from the lower country against the Commonwealth, which with Tartar assistance might be destructive. The storm drew nearer and nearer, more definite and more terrible. It was no longer vague undefined alarm that swept over the Ukraine, but clear certainty of slaughter and war. The Grand Hetman, who at first had made light of the whole affair, was pushing forward with his troops to Cherkasi. The advance guard of the royal armies was advancing mainly to prevent desertion; for the Cossacks of the towns, and the mob had begun to flee to the Saitch in masses. The nobility assembled in the towns. It was said that the general militia were to be called out in the southern provinces. Some, not waiting for the call, sent their wives and children to castles, and assembled in person at Cherkasi. The ill-fated Ukraine was divided into two parties, — one of these hastened to the Saitch, the other to the royal camp; one declared for the existing order of affairs, the other for wild freedom; one desired to keep possession of that which was the fruit of ages of labor, the other desired to deprive these possessors of that property. Both were to imbrue fraternal hands in the blood of each other. The terrible dispute, before it found religious rallying-cries which were completely foreign to the lower country, was breaking out as a social war.

  But though black clouds were gathering on the heaven of the Ukraine, though a dark and ominous night was descending from these clouds, though within them it rumbled and roared and thunder-claps rolled from horizon to horizon, people still could not tell to what degree the storm would burst forth. Perhaps even Hmelnitski himself could not, — Hmelnitski, who had just sent letters to Pan Pototski, to the Cossack commissioner, and to the royal standard-bearer, full of accusation and complaints, and at the same time of assurances of loyalty to Vladislav IV. and the Commonwealth. Did he wish to win time, or did he suppose that some agreement might yet end the dispute? On this there was a variety of opinions. There were only two men wh
o did not deceive themselves for a single moment. These men were Zatsvilikhovski and Barabash.

  The old colonel had also received a letter from Hmelnitski. The letter was sarcastic, threatening, and full of abuse. Hmelnitski wrote: —

  “We shall begin, with the whole Zaporojian army, to beg most fervently and to ask for that charter of rights which you secreted. And because you secreted it for your own personal profit and advantage, the whole Zaporojian army creates you a colonel over sheep or swine, but not over men. I beg pardon if in any way I failed to please you in my poor house in Chigirin on the feast-day of Saint Nicholas, and that I went off to the Zaporojie without your knowledge or permission.”

  “Do you see,” said Barabash to Zatsvilikhovski and Pan Yan, “how he ridicules me? Yet it was I who taught him war, and was in truth a father to him.”

  “He says, then, that the whole Zaporojian army will demand their rights,” said Zatsvilikhovski. “That is simply a civil war, of all wars the most terrible.”

  “I see that I must hasten,” said Skshetuski. “Give me the letters to those men with whom I am to come in contact.”

  “You have one to the koshevoi ataman?”

  “I have, from the prince himself.”

  “I will give you a letter to one of the kuren atamans. Barabash has a relative there, — Barabash also. From these you will learn everything. Who knows, though, but it is too late for such an expedition? Does the prince wish to hear what is really to be heard there? The answer is brief: ‘Evil!’ And he wants to know what to do? Short advice: ‘Collect as many troops as possible and join the hetmans.’”