With Fire and Sword Henryk Sienkiewicz (different e readers .TXT) 📖

and the officers present saw the tears in his worthy eyes. After a while he began to speak⁠—

“I greet you as a son, for I thought I should never see you again. Bear your burden manfully, and remember that you will have thousands of comrades in misfortune who will leave wives, children, parents, and friends; and as a drop of water is lost in an ocean, so let your suffering sink in the sea of universal pain. When such terrible times have come on our dear country, whoever is a man and has a sword at his side will not yield himself to weeping over his own loss, but will hasten to the rescue of the common mother, and either find relief in his conscience or lie down in a glorious death, receive a heavenly crown, and with it eternal happiness.”

“Amen!” said the priest Mukhovetski.

“Oh, I should rather see her dead!” groaned the knight.

“Weep, then, for great is your loss, and we will weep with you; for you have come not to Pagans, wild Scythians, or Tartars, but to brothers and loving comrades. Say to yourself, ‘Today I will weep over myself, but tomorrow is not mine;’ for remember that tomorrow we march to battle.”

“I will go with you to the end of the world; but I cannot console myself. It is so grievous for me without her that I cannot, I cannot⁠—”

The poor fellow seized himself by the head, then put his fingers between his teeth, and gnawed them to overcome the groans, for a storm of despair was tearing him afresh.

“You have said, ‘Thy will be done!’ ” said the priest, severely.

“Amen, amen! I yield to his will, but with pain. I cannot help it,” answered the knight, with a broken voice.

They could see how he struggled and writhed, and his suffering wrung tears from them all. The most sensitive were Volodyovski and Podbipienta, who poured out whole streams. The latter clasped his hands and said pitifully:

“Brother, dear brother, contain yourself!”

“Listen!” said the prince on a sudden, “I have news that Bogun rushed off from here toward Lubni, for he cut down my men at Vassílyevka. Do not despair too soon, for perhaps he did not find her; if he did, why should he rush on toward Lubni?”

“As true as life, that may be the case,” cried some of the officers. “God will console you.”

Skshetuski opened his eyes as if he did not understand what they were saying. Suddenly hope gleamed in his mind, and he threw himself at the feet of the prince.

“Oh, your Highness!” cried he, “my life, my blood⁠—”

He could speak no further. He had grown so weak that Pan Longin was obliged to raise him and place him on the bench; but it was evident from his looks that he had grasped at that hope as a drowning man at a plank, and that his pain had left him. The officers fanned that spark, saying he might find the princess in Lubni. Afterward they took him to another cottage, and then brought him mead and wine. He wished to drink, but could not, his throat was so straitened. His faithful comrades drank instead; and when they had grown gladsome they began to embrace and kiss him, and to wonder at his meagreness and the marks of sickness which he bore on his face.

“Oh, you look like one risen from the dead,” said portly Pan Dzik.

“It must be they insulted you in the Saitch, and gave you neither food nor drink.”

“Tell us what happened to you.”

“I will tell you some time,” said Skshetuski, with a weak voice. “They wounded me, and I was sick.”

“They wounded him!” cried Pan Dzik.

“They wounded him, though an envoy!” added Pan Sleshinski. The officers, astounded at Cossack insolence, looked at one another, and then began to press forward to Pan Yan with great friendliness.

“And did you see Hmelnitski?”

“I did.”

“Well, give him here!” said Migurski; “we will make mincemeat of him in a minute.”

The night passed in such conversation. Toward morning it was announced that the second party, despatched on the more distant road to Cherkasi, had returned. It was evident the men of this party had not come up with Bogun; they had brought wonderful news, however. They brought many people whom they had found on the road, and who had seen Bogun two days before. These people said that the chief was evidently pursuing someone, for he inquired everywhere if a fat noble had not been seen fleeing with a young Cossack. Besides, he was in a terrible hurry, and flew at breakneck speed. The people also affirmed that they had not seen Bogun taking away a young woman, and they would have seen her without fail if she had been with him, for only a few Cossacks were following the chief.

New consolation, but also new anxiety, entered the heart of Pan Yan, for these stories were simply beyond his comprehension. He did not understand why Bogun, pursuing first in the direction of Lubni, threw himself on the garrison at Vassílyevka, and then returned suddenly in the direction of Cherkasi. That he had not carried off Helena appeared to be certain, for Pan Kushel had met Anton’s party, and she was not with them. The people now brought from the direction of Cherkasi had not seen her with Bogun. Where could she be then? Where was she hiding? Had she escaped? If so, in what direction? Why should she not escape to Lubni, instead of Cherkasi or Zólotonosha? Still Bogun’s parties were pursuing and hunting somebody around Cherkasi and Próhorovka. But why were they inquiring about a noble with a young Cossack? To all these questions the lieutenant found no answer.

“Put your heads together, talk the matter over, explain what this means,” said he to the officers, “for my head is unequal to the task.”

“I think she must be in Lubni,” said Pan Migurski.

“Impossible!” rejoined Zatsvilikhovski; “for if she were in Lubni then Bogun would hurry to Chigirin, and would