Buch lesen: «The Deluge. Vol. 1», Seite 32

"But what is the matter?" asked he.

"Sergeant, the pitch-maker has escaped."

"A hundred devils! he'll bring robbers to us right away."

"Who was watching him?"

"Biloüs."

"I went with him to water our horses," said Biloüs, explaining. "I ordered him to draw the water, and held the horses myself."

"And what? Did he jump into the well?"

"No, Sergeant, but between the logs, of which there are many near the well, and into the stump-holes. I let the horses go; for though they scattered there are others here, and sprang after him, but I fell into the first hole. It was night, – dark; the scoundrel knows the place, and ran away. May the pest strike him!"

"He will bring those devils here to us, – he'll bring them. May the thunderbolts split him!"

The sergeant stopped, but after a while said, -

"We will not lie down; we must watch till morning. Any moment a crowd may come."

And giving an example to the others, he took his place on the threshold of the cabin with a musket in his hand. The soldiers sat near him talking in an undertone, listening sometimes to learn if in the night sounds of the pine-woods the tramp and snort of coming horses could reach them.

It was a moonlight night, and calm, but noisy. In the forest depths life was seething. It was the season of mating; therefore the wilderness thundered with terrible bellowing of stags. These sounds, short, hoarse, full of anger and rage, were heard round about in all parts of the forest, distant and near, – sometimes right there, as if a hundred yards from the cabin.

"If men come, they will bellow too, to mislead us," said Biloüs.

"Eh! they will not come to-night. Before the pitch-maker finds them 'twill be day," said the other soldiers.

"In the daytime, Sergeant, it would be well to examine the cabin and dig under the walls; for if robbers dwell here there must be treasures."

"The best treasures are in that stable," said Soroka, pointing with his finger to the shed.

"But we'll take them?"

"Ye are fools! there is no way out, – nothing but swamps all around."

"But we came in."

"God guided us. A living soul cannot come here or leave here without knowing the road."

"We will find it in the daytime."

"We shall not find it, for tracks are made everywhere purposely, and the trails are misleading. It was not right to let the man go."

"It is known that the highroad is a day's journey distant, and in that direction," said Biloüs.

Here he pointed with his finger to the eastern part of the forest.

"We will ride on till we pass through, – that's what we'll do! You think that you will be a lord when you touch the highway? Better the bullet of a robber here than a rope there."

"How is that, father?" asked Biloüs.

"They are surely looking for us there."

"Who, father?"

"The prince."

Soroka was suddenly silent; and after him were silent the others, as if seized with fear.

"Oi!" said Biloüs, at last. "It is bad here and bad there; though you twist, you can't turn."

"They have driven us poor devils into a net; here robbers, and there the prince," said another soldier.

"May the thunderbolts burn them there! I would rather have to do with a robber than with a wizard," added Biloüs; "for that prince is possessed, yes, possessed. Zavratynski could wrestle with a bear, and the prince took the sword from his hands as from a child. It can only be that he enchanted him, for I saw, too, that when he rushed at Vitkovski Boguslav grew up before the eyes to the size of a pine-tree. If he had not, I shouldn't have let him go alive."

"But you were a fool not to jump at him."

"What had I to do, Sergeant? I thought this way: he is sitting on the best horse; if he wishes, he will run away, but if he attacks me I shall not be able to defend myself, for with a wizard is a power not human! He becomes invisible to the eye or surrounds himself with dust-"

"That is truth," answered Soroka; "for when I fired at him he was surrounded as it were by a fog, and I missed. Any man mounted may miss when the horse is moving, but on the ground that has not happened to me for ten years."

"What's the use in talking?" said Biloüs, "better count: Lyubyenyets, Vitkovski, Zavratynski, our colonel; and one man brought them all down, and he without arms, – such men that each of them has many a time stood against four. Without the help of the devil he could not have done this."

"Let us commend our souls to God; for if he is possessed, the devil will show him the road to this place."

"But without that he has long arms for such a lord."

"Quiet!" exclaimed Soroka, quickly; "something is making the leaves rustle."

The soldiers were quiet and bent their ears. Near by, indeed, were heard some kind of heavy steps, under which the fallen leaves rustled very clearly.

"I hear horses," whispered Soroka.

But the steps began to retreat from the cabin, and soon after was heard the threatening and hoarse bellowing of a stag.

"That is a stag! He is making himself known to a doe, or fighting off another horned fellow."

"Throughout the whole forest are entertainments as at the wedding of Satan."

They were silent again and began to doze. The sergeant raised his head at times and listened for a while, then dropped it toward his breast. Thus passed an hour, and a second; at last the nearest pine-trees from being black became gray, and the tops grew whiter each moment, as some one had burnished them with molten silver. The bellowing of stags ceased, and complete stillness reigned the forest depths. Dawn passed gradually into day; the white and pale light began to absorb rosy and gold gleams; at last perfect morning had come, and lighted the tired faces of the soldiers sleeping a firm sleep at the cabin.

Then the door opened, Kmita appeared on the threshold and called, -

"Soroka! come here!"

The soldiers sprang up.

"For God's sake, is your grace on foot?" asked Soroka.

"But you have slept like oxen; it would have been possible to cut off your heads and throw them out before any one would have been roused."

"We watched till morning, Colonel; we fell asleep or in the broad day."

Kmita looked around. "Where are we?"

"In the forest, Colonel."

"I see that myself. But what sort of a cabin is this?"

"We know not ourselves."

"Follow me," said Kmita. And he turned to the inside of the cabin. Soroka followed.

"Listen," said Kmita, sitting on the bed. "Did the prince fire at me?"

"He did."

"And what happened to him?"

"He escaped."

A moment of silence followed.

"That is bad," said Kmita, "very bad! Better to lay him down than to let him go alive."

"We wanted to do that, but-"

"But what?"

Soroka told briefly all that had happened. Kmita listened with wonderful calmness; but his eyes began to glitter, and at last he said, -

"Then he is victor; but we'll meet again. Why did you leave the highroad?"

"I was afraid of pursuit."

"That was right, for surely there was pursuit. There are too few of us now to fight against Boguslav's power, – too few. Besides, he has gone to Prussia; we cannot reach him there, we must wait-"

Soroka was relieved. Pan Kmita evidently did not fear Boguslav greatly, since he talked of overtaking him. This confidence was communicated at once to the old soldier accustomed to think with the head of his colonel and to feel with his heart.

Meanwhile Pan Andrei, who had fallen into deep thought, came to himself on a sudden, and began to seek something about his person with both his hands.

"Where are my letters?" asked he.

"What letters?"

"Letters that I had on my body. They were fastened to my belt; where is the belt?" asked Pan Andrei, in haste.

"I unbuckled the belt myself, that your grace might breathe more easily; there it is."

"Bring it."

Soroka gave him a belt lined with white leather, to which a bag was attached by cords. Kmita untied it and took out papers hastily.

"These are passes to the Swedish commandants; but where are the letters?" asked he, in a voice full of disquiet.

"What letters?" asked Soroka.

"Hundreds of thunders! the letters of the hetman to the Swedish King, to Pan Lyubomirski, and all those that I had."

"If they are not on the belt, they are nowhere. They must have been lost in the time of the riding."

"To horse and look for them!" cried Kmita, in a terrible voice.

But before the astonished Soroka could leave the room Pan Andrei sank to the bed as if strength had failed him, and seizing his head with his hands, began to repeat in a groaning voice, -

"Ai! my letters, my letters!"

Meanwhile the soldiers rode off, except one, whom Soroka commanded to guard the cabin. Kmita remained alone in the room, and began to meditate over his position, which was not deserving of envy. Boguslav had escaped. Over Pan Andrei was hanging the terrible and inevitable vengeance of the powerful Radzivills. And not only over him, but over all whom he loved, and speaking briefly, over Olenka. Kmita knew that Prince Yanush would not hesitate to strike where he could wound him most painfully, – that is, to pour out his vengeance on the person of Panna Billevich. And Olenka was still in Kyedani at the mercy of the terrible magnate, whose heart knew no pity. The more Kmita meditated over his position, the more clearly was he convinced that it was simply dreadful. After the seizure of Boguslav, the Radzivills will hold him a traitor; the adherents of Yan Kazimir, the partisans of Sapyeha, and the confederates who had risen up in Podlyasye look on him as a traitor now, and a damned soul of the Radzivills. Among the many camps, parties, and foreign troops occupying at that moment the fields of the Commonwealth, there is not a camp, a party, a body of troops which would not count him as the greatest and most malignant enemy. Indeed, the reward offered for his head by Hovanski is still in force, and now Radzivill and the Swedes will offer rewards, – and who knows if the adherents of the unfortunate Yan Kazimir have not already proclaimed one?

"I have brewed beer and must drink it," thought Kmita. When he bore away Prince Boguslav, he did so to throw him at the feet of the confederate's, to convince them beyond question that he had broken with the Radzivills, to purchase a place with them, to win the right of fighting for the king and the country. Besides, Boguslav in his hands was a hostage for the safety of Olenka. But since Boguslav has crushed Kmita and escaped, not only is Olenka's safety gone, but also the proof that Kmita has really left the service of the Radzivills. But the road to the confederates is open to him; and if he meets Volodyovski's division and his friends the colonels, they may grant him his life, but will they take him as a comrade, will they believe him, will they not think that he has appeared as a spy, or has come to tamper with their courage and bring over people to Radzivill? Here he remembered that the blood of confederates was weighing on him; that to begin with, he had struck down the Hungarians and dragoons in Kyedani, that he had scattered the mutinous squadrons or forced them to yield, that he had shot stubborn officers and exterminated soldiers, that he had surrounded Kyedani with trenches and fortified it, and thus assured the triumph of Radzivill in Jmud. "How could I go?" thought he; "the plague would in fact be a more welcome guest there than I! With Boguslav on a lariat at the saddle it would be possible; but with only my mouth and empty hands!"

If he had those letters he might join the confederates, he would have had Prince Yanush in hand, for those letters might undermine the credit of the hetman, even with the Swedes, – even with the price of them he might save Olenka; but some evil spirit had so arranged that the letters were lost.

When Kmita comprehended all this, he seized his own head a second time.

"For the Radzivills a traitor, for Olenka a traitor, for the confederate's a traitor, for the king a traitor! I have ruined my fame, my honor, myself, and Olenka!"

The wound in his face was burning, but in his soul hot pain, a hundred-fold greater, was burning him. In addition to all, his self-love as a knight was suffering. For he was shamefully beaten by Boguslav. Those slashes which Volodyovski had given him in Lyubich were nothing. There he was finished by an armed man whom he had called out in a duel, here by a defenceless prisoner whom he had in his hand.

With every moment increased in Kmita the consciousness of how terrible and shameful was the plight into which he had fallen. The longer he examined it the more clearly he saw its horror; and every moment he saw new black corners from which were peering forth infamy and shame, destruction to himself, to Olenka, wrong against the country, – till at last terror and amazement seized him.

"Have I done all this?" asked he of himself; and the hair stood on his head.

"Impossible! It must be that fever is shaking me yet," cried he. "Mother of God, this is not possible!"

"Blind, foolish quarreller," said his conscience, "this would not have come to thee in fighting for the king and the country, nor if thou hadst listened to Olenka."

And sorrow tore him like a whirlwind. Hei! if only he could say to himself: "The Swedes against the country, I against them! Radzivill against the king, I against him!" Then it would be clear and transparent in his soul. Then he might collect a body of cut-throats from under a dark star and, frolic with them as a gypsy at a fair, fall upon the Swedes, and ride over their breasts with pure heart and conscience; then he might stand in glory as in sunlight before Olenka, and say, -

"I am no longer infamous, but defensor patriæ (a defender of the country); love me, as I love thee."

But what was he now? That insolent spirit, accustomed to self-indulgence, would not confess to a fault altogether at first. It was the Radzivills who (according to him) had pushed him down in this fashion; it was the Radzivills who had brought him to ruin, covered him with evil repute, bound his hands, despoiled him of honor and love.

Here Pan Kmita gnashed his teeth, stretched out his hands toward Jmud, on which Yanush, the hetman, was sitting like a wolf on a corpse, and began to call out in a voice choking with rage, -

"Vengeance! Vengeance!"

Suddenly he threw himself in despair on his knees in the middle of the room, and began to cry, -

"I vow to thee, O Lord Christ, to bend those traitors and gallop over them with justice, with fire, and with sword, to cut them, while there is breath in my throat, steam in my mouth, and life for me in this world! So help me, O Nazarene King! Amen!"

Some kind of internal voice told him in that moment, "Serve the country, vengeance afterward."

Pan Andrei's eyes were flaming, his lips were baked, and he trembled as in a fever; he waved his hands, and talking with himself aloud, walked, or rather ran, through the room, kicked the bed with his feet; at last he threw himself once more on his knees.

"Inspire me, O Christ, what to do, lest I fall into frenzy."

At that moment came the report of a gun, which the forest echo threw from pine-tree to pine-tree till it brought it like thunder to the cabin.

Kmita sprang up, and seizing his sabre ran out.

"What is that?" asked he of the soldier standing at the threshold.

"A shot, Colonel."

"Where is Soroka?"

"He went to look for the letters."

"In what direction was the shot?"

The soldier pointed to the eastern part of the forest, which was overgrown with dense underwood.

"There!"

At that moment was heard the tramp of horses not yet visible.

"Be on your guard!" cried Kmita.

But from out the thicket appeared Soroka, hurrying as fast as his horse could gallop, and after him the other soldier. They rushed up to the cabin, sprang from the horses, and from behind them, as from behind breastworks, took aim at the thicket.

"What is there?" asked Kmita.

"A party is coming," answered Soroka.

CHAPTER XXIX

Silence succeeded; but soon something began to rustle in the near thicket, as if wild beasts were passing. The movement, however, grew slower the nearer it came. Then there was silence a second time.

"How many of them are there?" asked Kmita. "About six, and perhaps eight; for to tell the truth I could not count them surely," said Soroka.

"That is our luck! They cannot stand against us."

"They cannot. Colonel; but we must take one of them alive, and scorch him so that he will show the road."

"There will be time for that. Be watchful!"

Kmita had barely said, "Be watchful," when a streak of white smoke bloomed forth from the thicket, and you would have said that birds had fluttered in the near grass, about thirty yards from the cabin.

"They shot from old guns, with hob-nails!" said Kmita; "if they have not muskets, they will do nothing to us, for old guns will not carry from the thicket."

Soroka, holding with one hand the musket resting on the saddle of the horse standing in front of him, placed the other hand in the form of a trumpet before his mouth, and shouted, -

"Let any man come out of the bushes, he will cover himself with his legs right away."

A moment of silence followed; then a threatening voice was heard in the thicket, -

"What kind of men are you?"

"Better than those who rob on the highroad."

"By what right have you found out our dwelling?"

"A robber asks about right! The hangman will show you right! Come to the cabin."

"We will smoke you out just as if you were badgers."

"But come on; only see that the smoke does not stifle you too."

The voice in the thicket was silent; the invaders, it seemed, had begun to take counsel. Meanwhile Soroka whispered to Kmita, -

"We must decoy some one hither, and bind him; we shall then have a guide and a hostage."

"Pshaw!" answered Kmita, "if any one comes it will be on parole."

"With robbers parole may be broken."

"It is better not to give it!" said Kmita.

With that questions sounded again from the thicket.

"What do you want?"

Now Kmita began to speak. "We should have gone as we came if you had known politeness and not fired from a gun."

"You will not stay there, – there will be a hundred horse of us in the evening."

"Before evening two hundred dragoons will come, and your swamps will not save you, for they will pass as we passed."

"Are you soldiers?"

"We are not robbers, you may be sure."

"From what squadron?"

"But are you hetman? We will not report to you."

"The wolves will devour you, in old fashion."

"And the crows will pick you!"

"Tell what you want, a hundred devils! Why did you come to our cabin?"

"Come yourselves, and you will not split your throat crying from the thicket. Nearer, nearer!"

"On your word."

"A word is for knights, not for robbers. If it please you, believe; if not, believe not."

"May two come?"

"They may."

After a while from out the thicket a hundred yards distant appeared two men, tall and broad-shouldered. One somewhat bent seemed to be a man of years; the other went upright, but stretched his neck with curiosity toward the cabin. Both wore short sheepskin coats covered with gray cloth of the kind used by petty nobles, high cowhide boots, and fur caps drawn down to their ears.

"What the devil!" said Kmita, examining the two men with care.

"Colonel!" cried Soroka, "a miracle indeed, but those are our people."

Meanwhile they approached within a few steps, but could not see the men standing near the cabin, for the horses concealed them.

All at once Kmita stepped forward. Those approaching did not recognize him, however, for his face was bound up; they halted, and began to measure him with curious and unquiet eyes.

"And where is the other son, Pan Kyemlich?" asked Kmita; "he has not fallen, I hope."

"Who is that-how is that-what-who is talking?" asked the old man, in a voice of amazement and as it were terrified.

And he stood motionless, with mouth and eyes widely open; then the son, who since he was younger had quicker vision, took the cap from his head.

"For God's sake, father! that's the colonel!" cried he.

"O Jesus! sweet Jesus!" cried the old man, "that is Pan Kmita!"

And both took the fixed posture of subordinates saluting their commanders, and on their faces were depicted both shame and wonder.

"Ah! such sons," said Pan Andrei, laughing, "and greeted me from a gun?"

Here the old man began to shout, -

"Come this way, all of you! Come!"

From the thicket appeared a number of men, among whom were the second son of the old man and the pitch-maker; all ran up at breakneck speed with weapons ready, for they knew not what had happened. But the old man shouted again, -

"To your knees, rogues, to your knees! This is Pan Kmita! What fool was it who fired? Give him this way!"

"It was you, father," said young Kyemlich.

"You lie, – you lie like a dog! Pan Colonel, who could know that it was your grace who had come to our cabin? As God is true, I do not believe my own eyes yet."

"I am here in person," answered Kmita, stretching his hand toward him.

"O Jesus!" said the old man, "such a guest in the pine-woods. I cannot believe my own eyes. With what can we receive your grace here? If we expected, if we knew!"

Here he turned to his sons: "Run, some blockhead, to the cellar, bring mead!"

"Give the key to the padlock, father."

The old man began to feel in his belt, and at the same time looked suspiciously at his son.

"The key of the padlock? But I know thee, gypsy; thou wilt drink more thyself than thou'lt bring. What's to be done? I'll go myself; he wants the key of the padlock! But go roll off the logs, and I'll open and bring it myself."

"I see that you have spoons hidden under the logs, Pan Kyemlich," said Kmita.

"But can anything be kept from such robbers!" asked the old man, pointing to the sons. "They would eat up their father. Ye are still here? Go roll away the logs. Is this the way ye obey him who begat you?"

The young men went quickly behind the cabin to the pile of logs.

"You are in disagreement with your sons in old fashion, it seems?" said Kmita.

"Who could be in agreement with them? They know how to fight, they know how to take booty; but when it comes to divide with their father, I must tear my part from them at risk of my life. Such is the pleasure I have; but they are like wild bulls. I beg your grace to the cabin, for the cold bites out here. For God's sake! such a guest, such a guest! And under the command of your grace we took more booty than during this whole year. We are in poverty now, wretchedness! Evil times, and always worse; and old age, too, is no joy. I beg you to the cabin, over our lowly threshold. For God's sake! who could have looked for your grace here!"

Old Kyemlich spoke with a marvellously rapid and complaining utterance, and while speaking cast quick, restless glances on every side. He was a bony old man, enormous in stature, with a face ever twisted and sullen! He, as well as his two sons, had crooked eyes. His brows were bushy, and also his mustaches, from beneath which protruded beyond measure an underlip, which when he spoke came to his nose, as happens with men who are toothless. The agedness of his face was in wonderful contrast to the quickness of his movements, which displayed unusual strength and alertness. His movements were as rapid as if a spring stirred him; he turned his head continually, trying to take in with his eyes everything around, – men as well as things. Toward Kmita he became every minute more humble, in proportion as subservience to his former leader, fear, and perhaps admiration or attachment were roused in him.

Kmita knew the Kyemliches well, for the father and two sons had served under him when single-handed he had carried on war in White Russia with Hovanski. They were valiant soldiers, and as cruel as valiant. One son, Kosma, was standard-bearer for a time in Kmita's legion; but he soon resigned that honorable office, since it prevented him from taking booty. Among the gamblers and unbridled souls who formed Kmita's legion, and who drank away and lost in the day what they won with blood in the night from the enemy, the Kyemliches were distinguished for mighty greed. They accumulated booty carefully, and hid it in the woods. They took with special eagerness horses, which they sold afterward at country houses and in towns. The father fought no worse than the twin sons, but after each battle he dragged away from them the most considerable part of the booty, scattering at the same time complaints and regrets that they were wronging him, threatening a father's curse, groaning and lamenting. The sons grumbled at him, but being sufficiently stupid by nature they let themselves be tyrannized over. In spite of their endless squabbles and scoldings, they stood up, one for the other, in battle venomously without sparing blood. They were not liked by their comrades, but were feared universally, for in quarrels they were terrible; even officers avoided provoking them. Kmita was the one man who had roused indescribable fear in them, and after Kmita, Pan Ranitski, before whom they trembled when from anger his face was covered with spots. They revered also in both lofty birth; for the Kmitas, from old times, had high rank in Orsha, and in Ranitski flowed senatorial blood.

It was said in the legion that they had collected great treasures, but no one knew surely that there was truth in this statement. On a certain day Kmita sent them away with attendants and a herd of captured horses; from that time they vanished. Kmita thought that they had fallen; his soldiers said that they had escaped with the horses, the temptation in this case being too great for their hearts. Now, as Pan Andrei saw them in health, and as in a shed near the cabin horses were neighing, and the rejoicing and subservience of the old man were mingled with disquiet, he thought that his soldiers were right in their judgment. Therefore, when they had entered the cabin he sat on a plank bed, and putting his hands on his sides, looked straight into the old man's eyes and asked, -

"Kyemlich, where are my horses?"

"Jesus! sweet Jesus!" groaned the old man. "Zolotarenko's men took the horses; they beat us and wounded us, drove us ninety miles; we hardly escaped with our lives. Oh, Most Holy Mother! we could not find either your grace or your men. They drove us thus far into these pine-woods, into misery and hunger, to this cabin and these swamps. God is kind that your grace is living and in health, though, I see, wounded. Maybe we can nurse you, and put on herbs; and those sons of mine went to roll off the logs, and they have disappeared. What are the rogues doing? They are ready to take out the door and get at the mead. Hunger here and misery; nothing more! We live on mushrooms; but for your grace there will be something to drink and a bite to eat. Those men took the horses from us, robbed us, – there is no denying that! And they deprived us of service with your grace. We shall not have a bit of bread for old age, unless your grace takes us back into service."

"That may happen too," answered Kmita.

Now the two sons of the old man came in, – Kosma and Damian, twins, big fellows, awkward, with enormous heads completely overgrown with an immensely thick bush of hair, stiff as a brush, sticking out unevenly around the ears, forming hair-screws and fantastic tufts on their skulls. When they came in they stood near the door, for in presence of Kmita they dared not sit down; and Damian said, -

"The cellar is cleared."

"'Tis well," answered old Kyemlich, "I will go to bring mead."

Here he looked significantly at his sons.

"And Zolotarenko's men took the horses," said he, with emphasis; and went out of the cabin.

Kmita glanced at the two who stood by the door, and who looked as if they had been hewn out of logs roughly with an axe.

"What are you doing now?"

"We take horses!" answered the twins at the same time.

"From whom?"

"From whomsoever comes along."

"But mostly?"

"From Zolotarenko's men."

"That is well, you are free to take from the enemy; but if you take from your own you are robbers, not nobles. What do you do with those horses?"

"Father sells them in Prussia."

"Has it happened to you to take from the Swedes? Swedish companies are not far from here. Have you attacked the Swedes?"

"We have."

"Then you fall on single men or small companies; but when they defend themselves, what then?"

"We pound them."

"Ah, ha, you pound them! Then you have a reckoning with Zolotarenko's men and with the Swedes, and surely you could not have got away dry had you fallen into their hands."

Kosma and Damian were silent.

"You are carrying on a dangerous business, more becoming to robbers than nobles. It must be, also, that some sentences are hanging over you from old times?"

"Of course there are!" answered Kosma and Damian.

"So I thought. From what parts are you?"

"We are from these parts."

"Where did your father live before?"

"In Borovichko."

"Was that his village?"

"Yes, together with Pan Kopystynski."

"And what became of him?"

"We killed him."

"And you had to flee before the law. It will be short work with you Kyemliches, and you'll finish on trees. The hangman will light you, it cannot be otherwise!"

Just then the door of the room creaked, and the old man came in bringing a decanter of mead and two glasses. He looked unquietly at his sons and at Kmita, and then said, -

"Go and cover the cellar."

The twins went out at once. The old man poured mead into one glass; the other he left empty, waiting to see if Kmita would let him drink with him.

But Kmita was not able to drink himself, for he even spoke with difficulty, such pain did the wound cause him. Seeing this, the old man said, -

"Mead is not good for the wound, unless poured in, to clear it out more quickly. Your grace, let me look at the wound and dress it, for I understand this matter as well as a barber."

Kmita consented. Kyemlich removed the bandage, and began to examine the wound carefully.

"The skin is taken off, that's nothing! The ball passed along the outside; but still it is swollen."

"That is why it pains me."

"But it is not two days old. Most Holy Mother! some one who must have been very near shot at your grace."