“We will not go!” repeated Billevich, still more resolutely.
“As true as life we will not!” shouted Hudzynski and Dovgird.
Kmita turned to them; but he was very pale now, for rage was throttling him, and his teeth chattered as in a fever.
“Ei! Try now to resist! My horses are to be heard—my dragoons are coming. Will someone say again that he will not go?”
In fact the tramp of numerous horses was heard. All saw that there was no help, and Kmita said—
“Young lady, within the time that a man could repeat the Lord’s Prayer twice you must be in the carriage, or your uncle will have a bullet in his head.”
And it was evident that the wild frenzy of anger was taking possession more and more of Pan Andrei, for suddenly he shouted till the panes rattled in the windows, “To the road!”
That same instant the door of the front chamber opened quietly, and some strange voice inquired—
“To what place, Cavalier?”
All became as stone from amazement, and every eye was turned to the door, in which stood some small man in armor, and with a naked sabre in his hand.
Kmita retreated a step, as if he had seen an apparition. “Pan Volodyovski!” cried he.
“At your service!” answered the little man. And he advanced into the middle of the chamber; after him entered in a crowd Mirski, Zagloba, Pan Yan, Pan Stanislav, Stankyevich, Oskyerko and Roh Kovalski.
“Ha!” cried Zagloba; “the Cossack caught a Tartar, and the Tartar holds him by the head!”
Billevich began to speak: “Whoever you are, gentlemen, save a citizen whom in spite of law, birth, and office they wish to arrest and confine. Save, brothers, the freedom of a noble, whoever you may be.”
“Fear not!” answered Volodyovski, “the dragoons of this cavalier are already in fetters, and now he needs rescue himself more than you do.”
“But a priest most of all!” added Zagloba.
“Sir Knight,” said Volodyovski, turning to Kmita, “you have no luck with me; a second time I stand in your way. You did not expect me?”
“I did not! I thought you were in the hands of the prince.”
“I have just slipped out of those hands—this is the road to Podlyasye. But enough! The first time that you bore away this lady I challenged you to sabres, is it not true?”
“True,” answered Kmita, reaching involuntarily to his head.
“Now it is another affair. Then you were given to fighting—a thing usual with nobles, and not bringing the last infamy. Today you do not deserve that an honest man should challenge you.”
“Why is that?” asked Kmita; and raising his proud head, he looked Volodyovski straight in the eyes.
“You are a traitor and a renegade,” answered Volodyovski, “for you have cut down, like an executioner, honest soldiers who stood by their country—for it is through your work that this unhappy land is groaning under a new yoke. Speaking briefly, prepare for death, for as God is in heaven your last hour has come.”
“By what right do you judge and execute me?” inquired Kmita.
“Gracious sir,” answered Zagloba, seriously, “say your prayers instead of asking us about a right. But if you have anything to say in your defence, say it quickly, for you will not find a living soul to take your part. Once, as I have heard, this lady here present begged you from the hands of Pan Volodyovski; but after what you have done now, she will surely not take your part.”
Here the eyes of all turned involuntarily to Panna Aleksandra, whose face at that moment was as if cut from stone; and she stood motionless, with downcast lids, icy-cold, but she did not advance a step or speak a word.
The voice of Kmita broke the silence—“I do not ask that lady for intercession.”
Panna Aleksandra was silent.
“This way!” called Volodyovski, turning toward the door.
Heavy steps were heard, followed by the gloomy rattle of spurs; and six soldiers, with Yuzva Butrym in front, entered the room.
“Take him!” commanded Volodyovski, “lead him outside the village and put a bullet in his head.”
The heavy hand of Butrym rested on the collar of Kmita, after that two other hands.
“Do not let them drag me like a dog!” said Kmita to Volodyovski. “I will go myself.”
Volodyovski nodded to the soldiers, who released him at once, but surrounded him; and he walked out calmly, not speaking to any man, only whispering his prayers.
Panna Aleksandra went out also, through the opposite door, to the adjoining rooms. She passed the first and the second, stretching out her hand in the darkness before her; suddenly her head whirled, the breath failed in her bosom, and she fell, as if dead, on the floor.
Among those who were assembled in the first room a dull silence reigned for some time; at last Billevich broke it. “Is there no mercy for him?” asked he.
“I am sorry for him,” answered Zagloba, “for he went manfully to death.”
To which Mirski said, “He shot a number of officers out of my squadron, besides those whom he slew in attack.”
“And from mine too,” added Stankyevich; “and he cut up almost all of Nyevyarovski’s men.”
“He must have had orders from Radzivill,” said Zagloba.
“Gentlemen,” said Billevich, “you bring the vengeance of Radzivill on my head.”
“You must flee. We are going to Podlyasye, for there the squadrons have risen against traitors; go with us. There is no other help. You can take refuge in Byalovyej, where a relative of Pan Skshetuski is the king’s hunter. There no one will find you.”
“But my property will be lost.”
“The Commonwealth will restore it to you.”
“Pan
