Then Kettling wrung his hands, was silent from exhaustion, and began to breathe quickly.
Olenka had not recovered yet from her amazement. She had not time to pause, or estimate properly that spirit, exceptional in its nobleness. She felt only that the last plank of salvation was slipping from her hands, the only means of escape from hated captivity was failing her. But still she tried to resist.
“I am,” said she, after a while, “the granddaughter and the daughter of a soldier. My grandfather and father also valued honor above life; but, precisely for that reason, they would not let themselves be used blindly for every service.”
Kettling drew, with trembling hand, from his coat a letter, gave it to Olenka, and said—
“Judge, my lady, if this command does not concern service.”
Olenka cast her eyes over the letter, and read as follows:—
“Since it has come to our knowledge that Billevich, the sword-bearer of Rossyeni, intends to leave our residence in secret, with plans hostile to us—namely, to excite his acquaintances, connections, relatives, and clients to rebellion against his Swedish Majesty and us—we recommend to the officers remaining in garrison at Taurogi to guard Billevich and his niece as hostages and prisoners of war, and not to permit their flight under pain of loss of honor and court-martial,” etc.
“The order came from the first stopping-place after the departure of the prince,” said Kettling; “therefore it is in writing.”
“The will of God be done!” said Olenka, after a while. “It is accomplished!”
Kettling felt that he ought to go; still he did not stir. His pale lips moved from moment to moment, as if he wished to say something and could not get the voice.
He was oppressed by the desire to fall at her feet and implore forgiveness; but on the other hand he felt that she had enough of her own misfortune, and he found a certain wild delight in this—that he was suffering and would suffer without complaint.
At last he bowed and went out in silence; but in the corridor he tore the bandages from his fresh wound, and fell fainting to the floor. When an hour later the palace guard found him lying near the staircase and took him to the barracks, he became seriously ill and did not leave his bed for a fortnight.
Olenka, after the departure of Kettling, remained some time as if dazed. Death had seemed to her more likely to come than that refusal; and therefore, at first, in spite of all her firm temper of spirit, strength, energy failed her; she felt weak, like an ordinary woman, and though she repeated unconsciously, “Let the will of God be done!” sorrow for the disappointment rose above her resignation, copious and bitter tears flowed from her eyes.
At that moment her uncle entered, and looking at his niece, divined at once that she had evil news to impart; hence he asked quickly—
“For God’s sake, what is it?”
“Kettling refuses!”
“All here are ruffians, scoundrels, arch-curs! How is this? And he will not help?”
“Not only will he not help,” answered she, complaining like a little child, “but he says that he will prevent, even should it come to him to die.”
“Why? by the Lord’s wounds, why?”
“For such is our fate! Kettling is not a traitor; but such is our fate, for we are the most unhappy of all people.”
“May the thunderbolts crush all those heretics!” cried Billevich. “They attack virtue, plunder, steal, imprison. Would that all might perish! It is not for honest people to live in such times!”
Here he began to walk with hurried step through the chamber, threatening with his fists; at last he said, gritting his teeth—
“The voevoda of Vilna was better; I prefer a thousand times even Kmita to these perfumed ruffians without honor and conscience.”
When Olenka said nothing, but began to cry still more, Billevich grew mild, and after a while said—
“Do not weep. Kmita came to my mind only because that he at least would have been able to wrest us out of this Babylonian captivity. He would have given it to all the Brauns, Kettlings, Pattersons, to Boguslav himself! But they are all the same type of traitors. Weep not! You can do nothing with weeping; here it is necessary to counsel. Kettling will not help—may he be twisted! We will do without him. You have as it were a man’s courage in you, but in difficulty you are only able to sob. What does Kettling say?”
“He says that the prince has given orders to guard us as prisoners of war, fearing, Uncle, that you would collect a party and go to the confederates.”
Billevich put his hands on his hips: “Ha, ha, ha! he is afraid, the scoundrel! And he is right, for I will do so, as God is in heaven.”
“Having a command relating to service, Kettling must carry it out on his honor.”
“Well! we shall get on without the assistance of heretics.”
Olenka wiped her eyes. “And does my uncle think it is possible?”
“I think it is necessary; and if it is necessary it is possible, though we had to let ourselves down by ropes from these windows.”
“It was wrong for me to shed tears; let us make plans as quickly as we can.”
Her tears were dry, her brows contracted again from thought and her former endurance and energy.
It appeared, in fact, that Billevich could find no help, and that the imagination of the lady was much richer in means. But it was difficult for her, since it was clear that they were guarded carefully.
They determined, therefore, not to try before the first news came from Boguslav. In this they placed all their hope, trusting that the punishment of God would come on the traitor and the dishonorable
