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  “And where will you go, when you begin with the prince,—to the camp of Hmelnitski?”

  “If they had given me the girl, I should have been your Polish brother, your friend, your sabre, your sworn soul, your dog. I should have taken my Cossacks, called others together in the Ukraine, then moved against Hmelnitski, and my own brothers, the Zaporojians, and torn them with hoofs. Did I wish reward for this? No! I should have taken the girl and gone beyond the Dnieper, to the steppes of God, to the wild meadows, to the quiet waters. That would have been enough for me; but now—”

  “Now you have become enraged.”

  Bogun made no answer, struck his horse with the nogaika, and rushed on. But Zagloba began to think of the trouble into which he had got himself. There was no doubt that Bogun intended to attack the Kurtsevichi, to avenge the injustice done him, and carry off the girl by force. Zagloba would have kept him company, even in an undertaking like this. In the Ukraine such affairs happened frequently, and sometimes they went unpunished. True, when the offender was not a noble, such a deed became complicated, more dangerous; but the enforcement of justice on a Cossack was difficult, for where was he to be found and seized? After the deed he escaped to the wild steppe, beyond the reach of human hand; and how many could see him? When war broke out, and Tartars invaded the country, the offender appeared again, for at such times laws were asleep. In this way Bogun, too, might save himself from responsibility. Besides, Zagloba had no need of giving him active assistance, and taking on himself half the fault. He would not have done this in any case; for though Bogun was his friend, still it did not beseem Zagloba, a noble, to engage with a Cossack against a noble, especially as he was acquainted with Skshetuski, and had drunk with him. Zagloba was a disturber of no common order, but his turbulence had a certain limit. To frolic in the public houses of Chigirin, with Bogun and other Cossack elders, especially at their expense,—but it was well too, in view of Cossack troubles, to have such people as friends. Zagloba, though he had got a scratch here and there, was very careful of his own skin; therefore he saw at once that through this friendship he had got into a desperate muddle. For it was clear that if Bogun should carry off the maiden, the betrothed of Vishnyevetski’s lieutenant and favorite, he would come into collision with the prince; then nothing would remain for him but to take refuge with Hmelnitski and join the rebellion. To this Zagloba mentally opposed his positive veto. To join the rebellion for the beautiful eyes of Bogun was altogether beyond his intention, and besides he feared Yeremi as he did fire.

  “Oh, misery!” muttered he to himself; “I have caught the devil by the tail, and this time he will catch me by the head and twist my neck. May lightning strike this Bogun, with his girl face and his Tartar hand! I’ve gone to a wedding, indeed, a regular dog-fight, as God is dear to me! May lightning strike all the Kurtsevichi and all the women! What have I to do with them? They are not necessary to me. No matter who has the grist, they will grind it on me. And for what? Do I want to marry? Let the evil one marry, it is all the same to me; what business have I in this affair? If I go with Bogun, then Vishnyevetski will flay me; if I leave Bogun, the peasants will kill me, or he will do it without waiting for them. The worst of all is to be intimate with a bear. I am in a nice plight. I should rather be the horse on which I am sitting, than Zagloba. I’ve come out on Cossack folly. I’ve hung to a water-burner; justly, therefore, will they flay me on both sides.”

  While occupied with these thoughts, Zagloba sweated terribly, and fell into worse humor. The heat was great; the horse travelled with difficulty, for he had not been on the road for a long time, and Pan Zagloba was a heavy man. Merciful God! what would he have given then to be sitting in the shade at an inn, over a glass of cool beer, not to weary himself in the heat and rush on over the scorching steppe!

  Though Bogun was in a hurry, he slackened his pace, for the heat was terrible. They fed the horses a little. During that time Bogun spoke to the essauls,—apparently gave them orders, for up to that time they did not know where they were going. The last word of the command reached Zagloba’s ear,—

  “Wait the pistol-shot!”

  “Very well, father.”

  Bogun turned suddenly to Zagloba: “You will go in advance with me.”

  “I?” asked Zagloba, in evident bad humor. “I love you so much that I have already sweated out one half of my soul; why should I not sweat out the other half? We are like a coat and its lining, and I hope the devil will take us together,—which is all the same to me, for I think it cannot be hotter in hell than here.”

  “Forward!”

  “At breakneck speed.”

  They moved on, and soon after them the Cossacks; but the latter rode slowly, so that in a short time they were a good distance in the rear, and finally were lost to sight.

  Bogun and Zagloba rode side by side in silence, both in deep thought. Zagloba pulled his mustache, and it was evident that he was working vigorously with his brain; he was planning, perhaps, how to extricate himself from the whole affair. At times he muttered something to himself half audibly; then again he looked at Bogun, on whose face was depicted now unrestrained anger, now grief.

  “It is a wonder,” thought Zagloba to himself, “that though such a beauty, he was not able to bring the girl to his side. He is a Cossack, it is true, but a famous knight and a lieutenant-colonel, who sooner or later will become a noble, unless he joins the rebellion, which depends entirely on himself. Pan Skshetuski is a respectable cavalier and good-looking but he cannot compare in appearance with the Cossack, who is as beautiful as a picture. Ha! they will grapple when they meet, for both are champions of no common kind.”

  “Bogun, do you know Pan Skshetuski well?” asked Zagloba, suddenly.

  “No,” answered the Cossack, briefly.

  “You will have difficult work with him. I saw him when he opened the door for himself with Chaplinski. He is a Goliath in drinking as well as fighting.”

  Bogun made no reply, and again they were both buried in their own thoughts and anxieties; following which, Zagloba repeated from time to time: “So there is no help!”

  Some hours passed. The sun had travelled far to the west, toward Chigirin; from the east a cool breeze sprang up. Zagloba took off his lynx-skin cap, raised his hand to his sweat-moistened head, and repeated again: “So there is no help!”

  Bogun roused himself, as if from sleep. “What do you say?” he inquired.

  “I say that it will be dark directly. Is it far yet?”

  “No.”

  In an hour it had grown dark in earnest, but they had already reached a woody ravine. At the end of the ravine a light was gleaming.

  “That is Rozlogi,” said Bogun, suddenly.

  “Is it? Whew! there is something cold in that ravine.”

  Bogun reined in his horse. “Wait!” said he.

  Zagloba looked at him. The eyes of the leader, which had the peculiarity of shining in the night, were gleaming at that moment like a pair of torches.

  Both of them stood for a long time motionless at the edge of the ravine. At length the snorting of horses was heard in the distance. These were Bogun’s Cossacks coming on slowly from the depth of the forest.

  The essaul approached for orders, which Bogun whispered in his ear; then the Cossacks halted again.

  “Forward!” said Bogun to Zagloba.

  Soon the dark masses of buildings around the mansion, the storehouses and well-sweeps stood in outline before their eyes. It was quiet in the yard. The dogs did not bark. A great golden moon shone above the buildings. From the garden came the odor of the cherry and apple blossoms. Everywhere it was quiet,—a night so wonderful that in truth it lacked only the sound of a lyre somewhere under the windows of the beautiful princess. There was light yet in some parts of the house.

  The two horsemen approached the gate.

  “Who is there?” called the voice of th
e night-guard.

  “Don’t you know me, Maksim?”

  “Oh, that is you! Glory to God!”

  “For the ages of ages. Open the gate! And how is it with you?”

  “All is well. You haven’t been in Rozlogi for a long time.”

  The hinges of the gate squeaked sharply, the bridge fell over the fosse, and the two horsemen rode into the square.

  “Look here, Maksim! don’t shut the gate, and don’t raise the bridge, for I am going out directly.”

  “Oh! you hurry as if you had come for fire.”

  “True! Tie the horse to the post!”

  CHAPTER XVIII.

  The Kurtsevichi were not sleeping yet. They were supping in that anteroom, filled with weapons, which extended the whole width of the house, from the garden to the square on the other side. At the sight of Bogun and Zagloba, they sprang to their feet. On the face of the princess was reflected not only astonishment, but displeasure and fright as well. Only two of the young men were present,—Simeon and Nikolai.

  “Oh, Bogun!” exclaimed the princess. “But what are you here for?”

  “I came to do you homage, mother. Are you not glad to see me?”

  “I am glad to see yon,—glad; but I wonder that you came, for I heard that you were on guard in Chigirin. But whom has God sent to us with you?”

  “This is Pan Zagloba,—a noble, my friend.”

  “We are glad to see you, sir,” said the princess.

  “We are glad,” repeated Simeon and Nikolai.

  “Worthy lady!” said Zagloba, “an untimely guest, it is true, is worse than a Tartar; but it is known also that whoever wishes to enter heaven must receive the traveller into his house, give meat to the hungry, and drink to the thirsty"—

  “Sit down, then; eat and drink,” said the old princess. “We are thankful that you have come. But, Bogun, I did not expect to see you; perhaps you have some business with us.”

  “Perhaps I have,” answered Bogun, slowly.

  “What is it?” asked the princess, disturbed.

  “When the moment comes, we will talk about it. Let us rest a little. I have come straight from Chigirin.”

  “It is evident that you were in a hurry to see us.”

  “And whom should I be in a hurry to see, if not you? Is Princess Helena well?”

  “Well,” replied the old lady, dryly.

  “I should like to gladden my eyes with her.”

  “Helena is sleeping.”

  “That is too bad, for I shall not stay long.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “War, mother! There is no time for aught else. Any moment the hetmans may send us to the field, and it will be a pity to strike Zaporojians. Was it seldom that we went with them for Turkish booty? Isn’t it true, Princes? We sailed upon the sea with them, ate bread and salt with them, drank and caroused, and now we are their enemies.”

  The princess looked quickly at Bogun. The thought flashed through her mind that perhaps Bogun intended to join the rebellion, and came to tamper with her sons.

  “And what do you think of doing?” inquired she.

  “I, mother? Well, it is hard to strike our own, but it is demanded.”

  “That is what we will do,” said Simeon.

  “Hmelnitski is a traitor!” added the young Nikolai.

  “Death to traitors!” said Bogun.

  “Let the hangman light their way,” added Zagloba.

  Bogun began to speak again: “So it is in this world. He who to-day is your friend is to-morrow a Judas. It is impossible to trust any one.”

  “Except good people,” said the princess.

  “True, you can believe good people; therefore I believe and love you; for you are good people, not traitors.”

  There was something so strange in the voice of the leader that in a moment deep silence reigned. Zagloba looked at the princess, and blinked with his sound eye; but the princess fixed her glance on Bogun.

  He spoke on: “War does not give life to men, but death; therefore I wanted to see you once more before going to the field. And you would mourn over me, for you are my friends from the heart, are you not?”

  “We are, as God is our aid. From childhood we have known you.”

  “You are our brother,” added Simeon.

  “You are princes, you are nobles, and you did not despise the Cossack; you took him to your house and promised him the maiden, your relative, for you knew that for the Cossack there was neither life nor existence without her; so you had mercy on the Cossack.”

  “There is nothing to talk about,” said the princess, hurriedly.

  “But there is, mother, something to talk about; for you are my benefactress, and I have asked of this noble, my friend, to make me his son and give me his escutcheon, so that you may not be ashamed to give your relative to a Cossack. Pan Zagloba has agreed to this, and we shall seek the permission of the Diet, and when the war is over will go to the Grand Hetman, who is kind to me. He can assist. He too acquired nobility for Krechovski.”

  “God give you aid!” said the princess.

  “You are sincere people, and I thank you. But before the war I should like to hear once more from your lips that you give me the maiden, and that you will keep your word. The word of a noble is not smoke, and you are a princess.”

  Bogun spoke with a slow and solemn voice, but at the same time in his speech there vibrated, as it were, a threat declaring that there must be consent to what he demanded.

  The old princess looked at her sons; they looked at her, and for a moment silence continued. Suddenly the falcon, sitting on her perch by the wall, began to make a noise, though it was long before daylight; others followed her. The great eagle woke, shook his wings, and began to scream. The pitch-pine burned low; it was growing gloomy and dark in the room.

  “Nikolai, put wood on the fire!” said the old princess.

  The young prince threw on more wood.

  “Well, do you consent?” inquired Bogun.

  “We must ask Helena.”

  “Let her speak for herself; you speak for yourselves. Do you promise?”

  “We promise,” said the mother.

  “We promise,” said the sons.

  Bogun stood up suddenly, and turning to Zagloba, said with a clear voice,—

  “My friend Zagloba, ask for the maiden too; maybe they will give her to you.”

  “What do you mean, Cossack? Are you drunk?” cried the princess.

  Bogun, in place of an answer, took out Skshetuski’s letter, and turning to Zagloba, said: “Read!”

  Zagloba took the letter, and began to read it in the midst of deep silence. When he had finished, Bogun crossed his arms on his breast.

  “To whom then do you give the girl?” asked he.

  “Bogun!”

  The voice of the Cossack became like the hiss of a serpent: “Traitors, murderers, faith-breakers, Judases!”

  “Sons, to your sabres!” screamed the princess.

  The princes sprang like lightning to the walls, and seized their arms.

  “Quiet, gentlemen, quiet!” began Zagloba.

  But before he had finished speaking, Bogun drew a pistol from his belt and fired.

  “Jesus!” groaned Prince Simeon. Advancing a step, he began to beat the air with his hands, and fell heavily on the floor.

  “People, to the rescue!” screamed the princess, in despair.

  But that moment, in the yard and from the side of the garden, were heard other volleys. The windows and the doors flew open with a crash, and several tens of Cossacks rushed into the room.

  “Destruction!” thundered wild voices.

  The alarm-bell was tolled on the square. The birds in the room began to scream. Uproar, firing, and shouts took the place of the recent quiet of a drows
y house.

  The old princess threw herself, howling like a wolf, on the body of Simeon, shuddering in the last convulsions; but soon two Cossacks seized her by the hair and drew her aside. Meanwhile Nikolai, driven to the corner of the room, defended himself with fury and the boldness of a lion.