"And of a cheerful heart?"

"Yes," averred the man. His eyes sought the ground, but a.n.u.sia did not notice that; she trusted the honest servant, who for upwards of twenty years had lived on the farm. "Then I am quite satisfied," she said; "let him stay as long as it gives him pleasure. It is five weeks more, to be sure; but let him have it."

And thereupon Jemilian went over to the pope's. "My master has sent me," he said, "he is anxious to know whether the imperial decision has arrived, he gave directions to have it transmitted to you.

"Nothing has come," said Leo; "but how is your master?"

Jemilian repeated his statements, but Father Leo was not taken in, although he had trouble of his own, and sympathy with others might have been in abeyance--his youngest child was grievously ill of the small-pox. But he was a true friend of Taras's, and could turn away from his own grief. "Look me in the face," he said, sternly; "it is not meet to offer an untruth to the priest. Tell me what you are after up there."

"Well, we hunt," Jemilian replied, hesitatingly. But the pope was not thus turned off, and after a little more of prevarication the man was obliged to confess. "Ah, your reverence," he said, "such hunting as Taras's the Carpathians have never seen. The Almighty must have clouded his reason; He must, indeed! On first starting we all took it for granted he would lead us to the Red Hollow, the best hunting ground far and wide. But he took us on--on, far away into the mountains. He never notices the track of the bear, and if we call his attention to it he shrugs his shoulders. On--on, we go. He seems to have but one object--to get to know his way in the mountains. If we pa.s.s a dense forest he takes his axe, making his mark upon the trees. If we come across a herdsman he does not inquire what life the bears have led him, but is anxious to learn the character of the neighbourhood and its bearings. It is the same if we put up with any cottager. He makes friends with the people, giving them cartridges for their guns, and asking them for nothing but directions to find his way. On we go, westward chiefly, but exploring right and left--from mountain to mountain, from glen to glen. Denser grows the forest, more ragged the clefts; we seek a path through the rimy brushwood, our hands torn with the brambles.... Ah, your reverence, I am a bear hunter of thirty years' standing; but what the Carpathians are I found out but lately."

"And have you asked him what is the object of all this?"

"Indeed I have--again and again, but to no purpose. How often have I said to him: 'What is the good of roaming through the wintry waste like this? Your servants would be well content if they could see you enjoyed it; but you push on, sad unto death--what is the good?' His reply being always the same: 'It must be, my men, and if you love me you will follow.' Love him?--of course we do. Your reverence knows as much as that yourself, that to know him is to be ready to go to the death for him.... Well, we followed him like sheep their shepherd, chiefly westward, for the s.p.a.ce of twenty days, when we reached a cottage, and the people there were Huzuls still, but of different ways from ours.

'We are of the Marmaros,' they said. We spent the night with them, and it was the same as everywhere. Let Taras but begin to speak with people, telling them of his life and inquiring into theirs, and his charm is upon them; they look up to him and are glad to serve him.

Indeed, your reverence, he has a wonderful influence over men, if he chooses to use it; this has been very plain in our roamings. From that cottage he led us back again towards Pokutia. 'It was useful to have seen something of Hungary,' he said; 'but now we will turn our steps homeward again.' That was both sensible and pleasant, and for sheer satisfaction I forgot to ask him why it should have been useful to seek a weary way through brambles and riven rocks to have a look at the Marmaros. Nor could I feel satisfied long, for he soon turned from the rising sun, striking off northward, over mount and dale, as we had done before. Never a shot he fired, though we met the finest deer; he only kept noticing the country. At last we stopped far beyond Delatyn; he gave us a day's rest, and then in quick marches he brought us back to these parts, stopping near the Red Hollow. We arrived two days ago, putting up for the night in the dell of old Michalko, and yesterday we had some hunting at last. We were fortunate too, for not two hours pa.s.sed before we sighted a splendid bear, and Taras killed him, rather carelessly, but the bullet hit clean between the eyes. It was the first time these six weeks that I saw him smile--he was pleased with his good shot. And when Lazarko and I had drawn the creature he sent me home with the skin."

"Lazarko," interrupted Father Leo, "who is he?"

Jemilian had tripped evidently. He grew red and stammered: "Oh!... some fellow.... who joined us...."

"Don't attempt what you have so little talent for," returned the pope; "your lies are transparent. Why do you depart from the truth?"

"I cannot help it," said the man, apologetically; "Taras has enjoined me so very sternly not to mention Lazarko, for fear of harming the poor youth...."

"Lazarko?" repeated the pope, rubbing his forehead, and exclaiming suddenly: "You don't mean Lazarko Rodakowicz, of Zolince, surely!"

"Yes I do," confessed Jemilian.

Father Leo was dismayed: "And this man our Taras suffers near him! Is he not aware that Lazarko is a murderer? Why the fellow shot the mandatar of his village!"

"He did. But only because the mandatar dishonoured the girl he loved."

"That is true. I knew the parties, Zolince being but a couple of miles from my late cure. The mandatar was a wretch, the girl honest, and the youth had borne a good name. But to commit murder is an awful thing nevertheless, and Lazarko, so far from in any way expiating his guilt, made it worse by escaping into the mountains, where he joined the band of Green Giorgi, thus becoming a brigand--a 'hajdamak.' I trust Taras was not aware of that!"

"He was," said Jemilian, "for Lazarko came to us straight from the outlaws. And since the matter has escaped me, I may as well tell your reverence the plain facts of it, for you are Taras's friend. We knew well enough, on going beyond the Red Hollow into the heart of the mountains, that we must fall in with some 'hajdamaks'; for the Carpathians are their natural haunt, and not all the Whitecoats[4] of the empire will be able to say a word against it. We had no fear; four of us, and carrying arms, we were a match for the devil if need be.

Besides, it is well known that the hajdamaks hardly ever attack a peasant or a Jew; they are the sworn enemies of the Polish n.o.bles only, and of the Whitecoats if driven to it. So we went ahead fearlessly, and our first encounter with one of their kind was not calculated to terrify us--a beardless milksop, half-starved and frozen. Our watch-fire brought him near, and he begged humbly for leave to stay.

But Taras stepped up to him: 'Let us first see if you deserve it!' he said sternly. 'Is your mother alive?' 'She is dead.' 'Then answer me truly, as you would wish her to be at rest in her grave. I presume even a fellow like you will own the sanct.i.ty of that oath! Why did you take to the mountains?' 'Well, just because of my mother's death; my father married again, and the step-mother turned him against me. I, the heir to the farm, had to do the meanest labour, and was treated like a dog besides. So I ran away!' 'This is no reason for taking to the mountains! Why did you not try life in another village, eating your bread honestly, as the servant of some respectable peasant?' The fellow looked abashed. 'I had heard of the merry life up here,' he said at last. 'Away with you!' cried Taras, 'it is mere laziness and greed of enjoyment that made you a hajdamak! Away!' And his look was such that the fellow made the greatest haste to escape. A few days later we had a more serious encounter. We were deep in the heart of the mountains, not far from the Marmaros, resting one night in a forsaken cattlefold. Our fire was lit, when suddenly an armed band appeared, headed by a handsome young man, with a finely-twisted moustache, carrying the white bunda[5] carelessly on his shoulders, with the green, silver-broidered jerkin beneath...."

"Green Giorgi himself," cried the pope, crossing himself involuntarily.

"Yes, himself! Your reverence will be aware of the stories concerning him--that he has power to show himself in different places simultaneously, and that he knows men and all about them, though he has never set eyes on them before. How that should be I cannot tell, but he certainly knew us. 'I make you welcome, Taras!' he said, condescendingly. 'I intend to start a-hunting tomorrow, and rejoice to fall in with the best bear-hunter of the country!' But Taras did not accept the proffered hand. 'If you know me so well, Giorgi,' he said, 'then you must be aware, also, that I never shrink from saying the truth. We are but four of us, and you about three times the number; we have but our guns, and you, I see, carry pistols besides. If you wish to attack us, we are lost. But nevertheless, I tell you, I shall neither hunt with you to-morrow, nor suffer your company a moment longer than I can help it this night. A man like you must poison the very air I breathe,' Giorgi grew white. 'Why?' he hissed, s.n.a.t.c.hing at his girdle, where a pair of silver-mounted pistols were to be seen. 'I am not bound further to explain my opinion,' replied Taras; 'to be a hajdamak is a miserable trade, yet there are reasons which may force an honest man to take to it. You have no such excuse. You are a mere deserter from the ranks of the Whitecoats. And you carry on this sad trade after a cruel and shameful fashion besides. When the peasants of Roskow, last autumn, called upon you to help them against their hard-hearted lord of the manor, you were not satisfied with plundering this Polish tyrant's property, but you committed robbery in the village besides; you not merely killed the tyrant, who deserved it, but you killed the innkeeper, a poor Jew, whose only crime consisted in having saved up a little money, which roused your cupidity. I could lay many similar charges at your door, but I daresay this will suffice.' But, so far from sufficing, it was more than the ruffian could brook. He drew his pistol, foaming with rage. But we three--Sefko, Wa.s.silj, and I--had c.o.c.ked our guns at him, his own people standing by gloomily. He would have discharged his pistol, nevertheless, had not one of his party made a dash at him, whispering something we did not understand. He gave a scowling look at his followers and turned to go. 'You coward!' cried Taras, 'an honest man's bullet is too good for you!' At daybreak we learned the reason of his yielding, and, indeed, had guessed as much--he could not rely on his men. They had joined him, believing him to be an honest hajdamak, and not a murdering brigand...."

"No hajdamak can be honest!" interrupted Father Leo, sharply.

"Well, honest, as the saying is," continued Jemilian, a little abashed.

"I was going on to say that at daybreak two of his men, Lazarko and Iwan, came to us, a.s.suring us they had thus believed in him, and entreating Taras to take them under his protection, as they were tired of the wicked life. He listened to Lazarko but not to Iwan, although the latter swore by his mother's grave that he also had intended to be an honest hajdamak...."

"Honest! honest!" broke in the pope once more. "I wish you would not thus use the word."

"Well, honest, as people take it," rejoined Jemilian. "I meant to say that Iwan had become a hajdamak only because he had shot a tax-gatherer who was unlawfully going to distrain the goods of his mother, a poor widow."

"And that is an honest reason?"

"Taras admitted it as such. But he nevertheless refused the young man's request, because he had a.s.sisted Green Giorgi in a deed of cowardly violence. He gave this account of it himself, crestfallen enough: 'Some weeks ago,' he said, 'while scouring the lower Bukowina, we received information that a Jewish wine-merchant from Czernowitz was travelling by himself along the mountain road to Transylvania. On learning this, the captain disguised himself as a peasant, requesting me to do likewise. We lay in waiting by the roadside. The Jew arrived presently, driving his car, and Green Giorgi begged him to give us a lift. He good-naturedly agreed, although his vehicle was small, and, taking our places beside him, we drove on for about a couple of hours, engaging him in conversation. But on entering the dark, narrow valley of the Putna, the captain stunned him with a sudden blow, ordering me to fire, which I did, yet with so trembling a hand that the bullet merely grazed his arm. Thereupon Green Giorgi drew his pistol and despatched him.'

Thus Iwan, amid sobs and groans; we listened horror-struck, but no one was more moved than Taras himself.

"'Was not the Jew a broad-built man, with a reddish beard, and blue, kindly eyes?' he inquired presently, with husky voice. 'Yes, yes,'

groaned Iwan; 'ah, it is those eyes I cannot get rid of....' 'Villain!'

cried Taras, 'I knew the man; he showed me a similar kindness. But even if I had never seen him I could have nothing to do with an a.s.sa.s.sin!'

'Have pity on me,' pleaded Iwan, 'I could not gainsay the captain, and it was but a Jew!' 'Away, villain!' repeated Taras furiously; 'is a Jew not a man? And you need obey no one for the committing of murder!' Iwan fell on his knees. 'If you reject me, I can but shoot myself,' he cried. 'There will be no harm done if you do,' said Taras, 'for it is what you have deserved!' We turned from him, going our way. And he did as he had threatened, the lads of old Michalko telling us only yesterday that they found him dead in the forest, the discharged pistol in his stiffened hand. We were sorry, but Taras never altered a look...."

The priest paced his room excitedly while this report was being given, and now he stood still. "These, then, are your hunting pleasures!" he cried, wringing his hands. "Is this the pastime by which Taras hopes to regain his spirits? And the worst of it is, it seems to delight him--he will return for Palm Sunday only! How do we know he will return then?"

"He will keep his word," said the man, confidently. "I was no less alarmed than you, and would not have come hither with his message had he not sworn faithfully to return by Palm Sunday."

Father Leo took comfort, asking presently: "And did he tell you what he means to do now?"

"Not in so many words, but I am pretty sure he will now take us through the Bukowina...."

Leo stared at the man, horror-struck, his whole figure trembling. His plump, honest face was livid with the thought that had come to him. He grew purple and white again, and big drops stood on his forehead.

"Jemilian...." he groaned.

The man had watched him, his own appearance as it were reflecting the pope's emotion. But now he stretched forth his hands as though combating an unworthy suspicion. "No, no!" he cried, "do not--do not insult the pure-hearted man!"

The pope drew a deep breath, and fell again to pacing his room.

Some time pa.s.sed in silence; the labouring man seemed lost in gloomy thought. When he looked up presently, Leo started as out of a dream.

"Go," he said with trembling voice, "and G.o.d be with you! Tell him our conversation, and that I shall look for him by Palm Sunday without fail. If we were not in trouble ourselves, I would think nothing of the twenty miles' distance, but would go with you to urge his return even now."

"Do you know him so little?" said the man with a smile. "'Twere easier to make the Pruth flow backwards than to turn him from his purpose. But he will keep his promise." He drew a breath. "Doubt him not! And pray for him," added the faithful soul, "he sorely needs it."

Jemilian departed, and Father Leo returned to the bedside of his youngest child. The little boy lay in high fever, tossing the more wildly as his hands were tied up for fear of his scratching the painful pustules.

The apothecary who had seen him a couple of days ago had judged that the illness would run its course favourably, but that it had not yet reached its height. And it was so; twelve weary days had to pa.s.s before the danger was over. And even then the poor parents could not lift their heads, for when the little one recovered, both the elder boys sickened with the same terrible disease, and all their anxiety began afresh. No one could have blamed Father Leo if in this season of sorrow he had thought little of the absent friend, all the more as the daily visits of a.n.u.sia had ceased; she was obliged, for her own children's sake, to hold aloof. But on the contrary, he thought much and pitifully of the roving man and his strange hunting-time. It scarcely needed the sad news which reached him on the last Sunday in Lent to rouse his sympathy afresh.

For on that day a messenger from the district town brought over the long-expected imperial rescript. Leo knew what the contents would be, and yet he hesitated to break the seal. Those thoughts that had come to him as he listened to Jemilian's report--thoughts of a suspicion which he had striven to combat--surged up in him afresh. And he felt as if that red seal in his hands were dyed with the heart's blood of the most righteous man he had known. He almost felt forbidden to break it, and when he did so at last it was with a sigh. He was not mistaken; the writ contained not merely a denial, but also a reproof for having wantonly troubled the ear of His Majesty. Father Leo groaned. "Taras must never know that," he murmured. "I shall not give him the literal contents."

But not four-and-twenty hours had pa.s.sed before all the villagers knew that the Emperor had written a letter to Taras, saying: "You good-for-nothing subject, if ever you trouble me again about your law suits, I shall have you shut up in prison!" It was the corporal who thus paraphrased the imperial decision, having it direct from Harasim Woronka, who was a common labourer now, thanks to his drink, working for the mandatar. It was Mr. Hajek's doing that this version was thus carried to the people; he had learned at Colomea that the decision had arrived, and had instructed his under-steward accordingly. Father Leo was greatly incensed, and saw he had no choice now but to inform Taras of the full contents, there being no mention of prison at any rate. And he made up his mind to get an insight into Taras's heart if possible, hoping the confessional in Pa.s.sion Week would yield the opportunity.

Palm Sunday was at hand. Early spring had made its appearance, the snow was fast melting, the south wind blew, and the hearts of men were happy. Father Leo especially had reason to bless this early spring, the vivifying influence of which made itself felt in the sick-room, helping to conquer the dread disease. But the parents yet took turns in sitting up at night.

And thus the night before Palm Sunday found Father Leo awake in the dimly-lit chamber; the boys were asleep, he, with stockinged feet, walking up and down between them and the window. Again and again he stood still by their little beds, looking down wistfully at the pale faces of his children, on which the illness happily had left no ravages, and, turning back to the window, he would gaze out into the moonlit night. The village street was bright as day, but solemn in silence. The trees, just breaking into tiny buds, stretched forth their branches into the glimmering air, and there were quivering sounds as of the whispering winds of spring. From a copsewood near, the call of the screech owl was heard; it is counted a death omen in most places, but Father Leo scarcely noticed the dismal notes for the kindly light pouring down upon the world. And the pious man lifted a full heart to the Giver of all goodness, who had brought back his little ones from the arms of death. "If I could but tell them," he murmured, resuming his walk, and seeking words for the holy things that moved him. The good man was making his sermon for the morrow.

He was startled by a sound from the window, a finger tapping the pane gently. A dark figure stood without, and, looking close, he recognised Taras.

He hastened to open the sash a couple of inches. "Welcome! welcome!" he said warmly, "I am glad you have made good your promise."

"I returned an hour ago," replied Taras. "My wife and children are well; but you have seen trouble?"