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  “And you are not able to cry?”

  Bogun gave a sign only with his eyes that he could not.

  “Nor move?”

  The same sign.

  “So much the better; for you will not speak, nor cry, nor move. Meanwhile I will go to Lubni with the princess. If I don’t sweep her away from you, then I will let an old woman grind me to bran in a mill. What a scoundrel! You think that I haven’t enough of your company, that I will be hail-fellow-well-met with trash? Oh, you scoundrel! you thought that for your wine, your dice, and your plebeian loves I would kill people and go into rebellion with you? No, nothing of the sort, my handsome fellow!”

  As Zagloba went on, the dark eyes of the chief opened wider and wider. Was he dreaming, was he awake, or was Zagloba jesting?

  But Zagloba talked on: “What do you stare so for, like a cat? Do you think that I won’t do this? Perhaps you would like to send your respects to somebody in Lubni? A barber could be sent to you, for a good one can be had from the prince.”

  The pale visage of the chief became terrible. He understood that Zagloba was speaking in earnest. Lightning flashes of despair and rage shot from his eyes; a flame rushed into his face. With superhuman effort he raised himself and a cry broke from his lips.

  “Hi! Cos—”

  He had not finished when Zagloba, with the speed of lightning, threw Bogun’s coat over his head, and in a moment had wound it completely around him and thrown him on his back.

  “Don’t cry, for it hurts you,” said he quietly, panting heavily. “Your head might go to aching to-morrow; therefore as a good friend I am careful of you. In this fashion you will be warm and sleep comfortably, not scream your throat out. Lest you tear your clothes, I will bind your hands; and all this through friendship, that you may remember me with gratitude.”

  With the belt on the Cossack he bound his hands; then with his own belt he tied his feet. Bogun felt nothing now; he had fainted.

  “A sick man should lie quietly,” said Zagloba, “so that humor may not fly to his head; from this comes delirium. Well, good health to you! I might rip you with a knife, which would probably be the best use for you, but I am ashamed to kill a man in peasant fashion. Quite another affair if you choke before morning, for that has happened to more than one pig. Good health, and return my love! Maybe we shall have another meeting; but if I try to hasten it, then let some one flay me and make horse-cruppers of my skin.”

  When he had finished this speech Zagloba went to the anteroom, quenched the fire in the chimney, and knocked at Vassily’s door. A slender figure emerged from it at once.

  “Is that you?” asked Zagloba.

  “It is.”

  “Come on! If we only reach the horses—but then the Cossacks are all drunk, the night is dark; before they wake we shall be far away. Be careful! the princes are lying here.”

  “In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost!” whispered Helena.

  CHAPTER XIX.

  Two persons rode quietly and slowly through the woody ravine which skirted the dwelling at Rozlogi. The night had become very dark, for the moon had gone down long before, and besides clouds covered the sky. In the ravine nothing could be seen three steps ahead of the horses, which stumbled over the roots of the trees sticking across the road. They went for a long time with the greatest care, till at length, when they saw the end of the ravine, and the open steppe, lighted a little by the gray reflection of the clouds, one of the riders whispered, “Spur on!”

  They shot ahead, like two arrows sent from Tartar bows. Nothing followed them but the sound of hoofs. The dark steppe seemed to fly from under their beasts. Single oak-trees standing here and there by the roadside swept past like phantoms, and they fled for a long time without rest or drawing breath, till finally the horses dropped their ears and began to snort from weariness, their gait grew heavy and slow.

  “There is no help for it, the horses must slacken their pace,” said one of the travellers, a heavy man.

  Just then dawn began to push night from the steppe. Every moment a broader expanse came out from the darkness; the thistles of the steppe were outlined indistinctly, the distant trees, the mounds; every moment more light was diffused in the air. The whitish gleams lighted up the faces of the riders too. They were Pan Zagloba and Helena.

  “No help for it, we must let the horses slacken their speed,” said Zagloba. “Yesterday they came from Chigirin to Rozlogi without resting. They cannot endure this kind of travelling long. I am afraid they may drop dead. How do you feel?”

  Here Zagloba looked at his companion, and not waiting for her to answer, cried out,—

  “Oh, let me look at you in the daylight! Oh, ho! are those your cousin’s clothes? It must be said you are a splendid Cossack. I’ve not had in all my life such another waiting-man; but I think Pan Skshetuski will take him from me soon. But what is this? Oh, for God’s sake, twist up your hair! Unless you do there will be no doubt as to your sex.”

  In fact, over Helena’s shoulders flowed a torrent of black hair, let loose by the speed of the course and the dampness of the night.

  “Where are we going?” asked she, winding up her hair with both hands, and trying to put it under her cap.

  “Where our eyes take us.”

  “Then not to Lubni?”

  Alarm was reflected on Helena’s face, and in the quick glance which she threw at Zagloba reawakened distrust was evident.

  “Do you see,” said he, “I have my own reason; and believe me I have reckoned everything carefully, and my reckoning is based on the following wise maxim: Do not escape in the direction in which you will be pursued. If they are pursuing us at this moment, they are pursuing in the direction of Lubni; for I inquired yesterday in a loud voice about the road, and before setting out I told Bogun that we should go in that direction. Therefore we shall go to Cherkasi. If they follow us, it will not be quickly, for it will take them two days to discover that we are not on the Lubni road. By that time we shall be in Cherkasi, where the Polish regiments of Pivnitski and Rudomina are stationed; and in Korsún are all the forces of the hetmans. Do you understand now?”

  “I understand, and while life lasts I shall be thankful to you! I do not know who you are or whence you came to Rozlogi; but I think God sent you to defend and save me, for I should stab myself rather than fall into the power of that robber.”

  “He is a dragon, terribly intent on pursuing you.”

  “What in my misfortune have I done to him that he should pursue me? I have known him long, and long have I hated him, long since has he roused in me nothing but fear. Am I the only woman in the world, that he should love me, and shed so much blood on my account,—that he should kill my cousins? When I remember it my blood grows cold. What shall I do? Where shall I hide from him? Do not wonder at my complaining, for I am unhappy. I am ashamed of such affection; I should prefer death a hundred times.”

  Helena’s cheeks were flushed; tears were flowing over them, forced out by anger, contempt, and pain.

  “I will not deny,” said Zagloba, “that a great misfortune has come upon your house; but permit me to say that your relatives are partly to blame. They should not have promised your hand to the Cossack, and then betrayed him. When this was discovered he became so enraged that no persuasion of mine could avail. I am sorry for your two dead cousins, and especially for the younger; for he was still a mere youth, but it was evident at a glance that he would have ripened into a mighty warrior.”

  Helena began to cry.

  “Tears are not proper to those garments which you wear; wipe them away therefore, and say to yourself that this was the will of God. God will punish the outlaw too, who is indeed already punished; for he has shed blood in vain, and has lost you, the one chief object of his desires.”

  Here Zagloba stopped; after a while he spoke again:—

  “Oh, dear Lord, what a d
ressing he would give me if I should fall into his hands! He would make a lizard out of my skin. You do not know that I have already received the crown of martyrdom from the Turks; but I have had enough, I do not wish another; therefore I do not go to Lubni, but to Cherkasi. It would be pleasant to take refuge with the prince, but if they should catch us while going there! You heard, as I was untying the horse from the post, how one of Bogun’s serving-men woke up. But if he had raised the alarm then? They would have been ready for the chase at once, and would have caught us in an hour; for they have the fresh horses of Rozlogi, from which I had no time to select. Oh, I tell you he is a wild beast, that Bogun! I have such a horror of him that I would rather take a look at the devil than at him.”

  “God save us from his hands!”

  “He has ruined himself. He abandoned Chigirin, in spite of the orders of the hetman; he has come into collision with Vishnyevetski. Nothing now remains for him but to flee to Hmelnitski. But he will lose his daring if Hmelnitski is beaten, and that may happen. Jendzian met troops beyond Kremenchug, sailing down the river under Barabash and Krechovski, against Hmelnitski; and, besides, young Stephan Pototski is moving by land with his hussars; but Jendzian waited ten days in Kremenchug to repair his boat. Therefore the battle must have taken place before he reached Chigirin. We were expecting news every moment.”

  “Then Jendzian brought letters from Kudák, did he?” asked Helena.

  “Yes, there were letters from Skshetuski to the princess and to you; but Bogun seized them, and from them learned everything. Then he struck down Jeodzian at once, and set out to take vengeance on the Kurtsevichi.”

  “Oh, unfortunate youth! He has shed his blood on my account.”

  “Do not grieve; he will recover.”

  “When did this happen?”

  “Yesterday morning. For Bogun to fell a man is no more than for another to toss off a glass of wine. And after the reading of the letters, he roared so that all Chigirin trembled.”

  Conversation was interrupted for a moment. Daylight had come. The rosy dawn, streaked with opals, bright gold, and purple, was glowing in the east. The breeze was fresh; the horses, now rested, moved gladly.

  “Let us go on, in God’s name, and quickly! Our horses have drawn breath, and we have no time to lose,” said Zagloba.

  They went again at a gallop, and rushed on for two or three miles without rest. All at once a dark point appeared ahead of them, which approached with amazing rapidity.

  “What can that be?” asked Zagloba. “Let us draw up a little. That’s a man on horseback.”

  In fact, some horseman was approaching them at full speed. Bent forward in the saddle, with face hidden in the mane of the horse, he continued to urge with a nagaika the stallion, which seemed not to touch the ground.

  “What kind of devil can he be, and why does he flee so? But he just flies!” said Zagloba, taking out a pistol from the holsters, to be ready in every event.

  Meanwhile the courier had come within thirty yards.

  “Stop!” thundered Zagloba, aiming his pistol; “who are you?”

  The horseman reined in his steed, and sat erect in the saddle; but the moment he looked he cried, “Pan Zagloba!”

  “Pleshnyevski, attendant of the starosta of Chigirin! But what are you doing here? Where are you fleeing to?”

  “Oh, turn back with me! Misfortune! The anger of God, the judgment of God!”

  “What has happened? Speak!”

  “Chigirin is taken by the Zaporojians. The peasants are slaughtering the nobles.”

  “In the name of the Father and Son! What do you say? Has Hmelnitski come?”

  “Pototski is killed, Charnetski in captivity. The Tartars are marching with the Cossacks. Tugai Bey—”

  “But Barabash and Krechovski?”

  “Barabash is killed, Krechovski has gone over to Hmelnitski. Krívonos moved on the hetmans last night, Hmelnitski before daybreak this morning. He has tremendous forces. The country is on fire, peasants rising everywhere; blood is flowing. Save yourself!”

  Zagloba’s eyes were starting out, his mouth open, and he was so astonished that he could not speak.

  “Save yourself!” repeated Pleshnyevski.

  “Jesus and Mary!” groaned Zagloba.

  “Jesus and Mary!” repeated Helena, and burst into tears.

  “Escape! There is no time to be wasted.”

  “Where! To what place?”

  “To Lubni.”

  “But are you going there?”

  “Yes; to the prince, the voevoda.”

  “Devil take it all!” cried Zagloba. “But where are the hetmans?”

  “At Korsún. But Krívonos is fighting with them already.”

  “Krívonos or Prostonos,[10] may the plague consume him! I have no reason to go where he is.”

  “You are running to your own destruction, as into a lion’s mouth.”

  “And who sent you to Lubni? Your lord?”

  “Oh! he escaped with his life; and a friend whom I have among the Zaporojians saved my head, and helped me to flee. I am going to Lubni of my own will, for I don’t know where else to take refuge.”

  “But avoid Rozlogi, for Bogun is there. He also wishes to join the rebellion.”

  “Oh, for God’s sake, save us! In Chigirin they said that the peasants would rise immediately beyond the Dnieper!”

  “Maybe I maybe! But go your own way wherever you please, for I have enough to do to think of my own skin.”

  “That is what I’ll do,” said Pleshnyevski; and lashing his horse with the nagaika, he rushed on.

  “But avoid Rozlogi!” called Zagloba after him. “Should you meet Bogun, don’t tell him that you have seen me. Do you hear?”

  “I hear,” answered Pleshnyevski. “God be with you!” And he raced away as if hunted.

  “Well, devil, here’s an overcoat for you! I’ve got out of many a trouble, but I have never been in anything like this. Hmelnitski in front, Bogun in the rear; and since this is so, I wouldn’t give a broken orta for either my front or rear, or my whole skin. I was a fool not to go to Lubni with you, but it is no time to talk of that now. Pshaw, pshaw! All my wit at the present moment isn’t fit to grease a pair of boots with. What is to be done? Where am I to go? In the whole Commonwealth it appears there is not a corner where a man can leave the world with his own death, and not have death given him. I would rather be excused from such presents; let others take them.”

  “Most worthy sir,” said Helena, “I know that my cousins Yuri and Fedor are in Zólotonosha; maybe they could save us.”

  “In Zólotonosha? Wait a moment! In Chigirin I knew Pan Unyejitski, who owns the estates of Krapivna and Chernobái, near Zólotonosha. But that place is far from here, farther than Cherkasi. What is to be done? If there is no other place, why, we will take refuge even there. But we must leave the highway; it is safer to go by the steppe and woods. If we hide somewhere a week, even in the woods, perhaps by that time the hetmans will finish with Hmelnitski, and it will be more peaceable in the Ukraine.”

  “God did not save us from the hands of Bogun to let us perish. Have courage!”

  “Wait a moment! Some spirit enters me anew. I have been in many a trouble. In a leisure hour I will tell you what happened to me in Galáts, and you will see at once that I was in a terrible place that time; still I slipped out by my own wit from those dangers and escaped in safety, though as you see my beard has grown gray a little. But we must leave the highway. Turn, my lady! You ride as well as the best Cossack. The grass is high, and no eye can see us.”

  In fact, the grass became higher and higher as they entered the steppe, so that at last they were hidden in it entirely. But it was difficult for the horses to move through that thicket of stalks, both slender and heavy, and at times sharp and cutting. Soon they became so tired that they were
completely exhausted.

  “If we want these horses to serve us further, we must dismount, unsaddle them, and let them roll and eat awhile, otherwise they will not go on. I see that we shall reach the Kagamlik before long. I should like to be there now. There is no place to hide in like reeds; when you are in them the devil himself can’t find you. But we must not go astray.”

  He dismounted and assisted Helena from the horse, then took off the saddles and produced a supply of provisions which he had prudently provided in Rozlogi.

  “We must strengthen ourselves,” said he, “for the road is long; and do you make some vow to Saint Raphael for our safe passage. There is an old fortress in Zólotonosha, and perhaps there is some kind of garrison there now. Pleshnyevski said that beyond the Dnieper the peasants are rising. H’m! this may be true, for the people are quick at rebellion everywhere; but the hand of the prince is on the country behind them, and it is a devil of a hand for weight! Bogun has a strong neck; but if that hand should fall on it, the neck would bend to the earth,—which God grant, amen! But eat something, Princess!”