It was growing raw out of doors. Panna Aleksandra walked in the room with hurried step, but anger was seething in her soul without ceasing. Hers was not the nature to endure the persecutions of fate without defending herself against them. There was knightly blood in the girl. She wanted straightway to begin a struggle with that band of evil spirits—straightway. But what remained to her? Nothing, save tears and the prayer that Pan Andrei would send to the four winds those shame-bringing comrades. But if he will not do that—And she did not dare to think more of the question.
The meditations of the lady were interrupted by a youth who brought an armful of juniper sticks to the chimney, and throwing them down at the side of the hearth, began to pull out the coals from under the smouldering ashes. Suddenly a decision came to Olenka’s mind.
“Kostek!” said she, “sit on horseback for me at once, and ride to Lyubich. If the master has returned, ask him to come here; but if he is not there, let the manager, old Znikis, mount with thee and come straight to me, and quickly.”
The youth threw some bits of pitch on the coals and covered them with clumps of dry juniper. Bright flames began to crackle and snap in the chimney. It grew somewhat lighter in Olenka’s mind.
“Perhaps the Lord God will change this yet,” thought she to herself, “and maybe it is not so bad as the guardians have said.”
After a while she went to the servants’ room to sit, according to the immemorial custom of the Billeviches, with the maidens to oversee the spinning and sing hymns.
In two hours Kostek entered, chilled from cold. “Znikis is in the antechamber,” said he. “The master is not in Lyubich.”
The lady rose quickly. The manager in the antechamber bowed to her feet. “But how is your health, serene heiress? God give you the best.”
They passed into the dining-hall; Znikis halted at the door.
“What is to be heard among you people?” asked the lady.
The peasant waved his hand. “Well, the master is not there.”
“I know that, because he is in Upita. But what is going on in the house?”
“Well!—”
“Listen, Znikis, speak boldly; not a hair will fall from thy head. People say that the master is good, but his companions wild?”
“If they were only wild, serene lady!—”
“Speak candidly.”
“But, lady, if it is not permitted me—I am afraid—they have forbidden me.”
“Who has forbidden?”
“My master.”
“Has he?” asked the lady.
A moment of silence ensued. She walked quickly in the room, with compressed lips and frowning brow. He followed her with his eyes. Suddenly she stopped before him.
“To whom dost thou belong?”
“To the Billeviches. I am from Vodokty, not from Lyubich.”
“Thou wilt return no more to Lyubich; stay here. Now I command thee to tell all thou knowest.”
The peasant cast himself on his knees at the threshold where he was standing. “Serene lady, I do not want to go back; the day of judgment is there. They are bandits and cutthroats; in that place a man is not sure of the day nor the hour.”
Panna Billevich staggered as if stricken by an arrow. She grew very pale, but inquired calmly, “Is it true that they fired in the room, at the portraits?”
“Of course they fired! And they dragged girls into their rooms, and every day the same debauchery. In the village is weeping, at the house Sodom and Gomorrah. Oxen are killed for the table, sheep for the table. The people are oppressed. Yesterday they killed the stable man without cause.”
“Did they kill the stableman?”
“Of course. And worst of all, they abused the girls. Those at the house are not enough for them; they chase others through the village.”
A second interval of silence followed. Hot blushes came out on the lady’s face, and did not leave it.
“When do they look for the master’s return?”
“They do not know, my lady. But I heard, as they were talking to one another, that they would have to start tomorrow for Upita with their whole company. They gave command to have horses ready. They will come here and beg my lady for attendants and powder, because they need both there.”
“They are to come here? That is well. Go now, Znikis, to the kitchen. Thou wilt return to Lyubich no more.”
“May God give you health and happiness!”
Panna Aleksandra had learned what she wanted, and she knew how it behooved her to act.
The following day was Sunday. In the morning, before the ladies had gone to church, Kokosinski, Uhlik, Kulvyets-Hippocentaurus, Ranitski, Rekuts, and Zend arrived, followed by the servants at Lyubich, armed and on horseback, for the cavaliers had decided to march to Upita with succor for Kmita.
The lady went out to meet them calmly and haughtily, altogether different from the woman who had greeted them for the first time a few days before. She barely motioned with her head in answer to their humble bows; but they thought that the absence of Pan Kmita made her cautious, and took no note of the real situation.
Kokosinski stepped forward more confidently than the first time, and said—
“Serene great mighty lady, chief-hunter’s daughter, benefactress; we have come in here on our way to Upita to fall at the feet of our lady benefactress and beg for assistance, such as powder, and that you would permit your servants to mount their horses and go with us. We will take Upita by storm, and let out a little blood for the basswood-barks.”
“It is a wonder to me,” answered Panna Billevich, “that you are going to Upita, when I heard myself how Pan Kmita commanded you to remain quietly in Lyubich, and I think that it beseems him to command and you to obey, as subordinates.”
The cavaliers hearing these words looked at one another in astonishment. Zend pursed out his lips as if about to whistle in bird fashion. Kokosinski began to draw his broad palm over his head.
“As true as life,” said he, “a
