"Nor yet a request, that I am aware," returned Hajek. "The governor asked my opinion, or any advice I could give, concerning the personal safety of the commissioner about to be despatched to Zulawce, and I am ready to advise you." The mandatar had some trouble in keeping serious, for Kap.r.o.nski's features, besides recovering their wonted humility at a stroke as it were, presented a ludicrous picture of most doleful dismay.

"Personal safety," lie stammered, "why, is there any danger?"

"A great deal," said Hajek, confidently.

Kap.r.o.nski's face turned white, and red, and ashy grey. "I shall have an escort," he faltered; "but if Taras should attack us on the road, I am a dead man! There is no help----"

His voice positively failed him.

"None whatever," a.s.sented the mandatar. "Stop--yes, there is," he added, a sudden thought having flashed through him--indeed a capital thought, so simple and so clever withal that he was surprised it should not have presented itself before. "There is!" he said.

"Is there?" returned Kap.r.o.nski, eagerly.

"Yes, indeed! a sure means of saving yourself and me, and all honest folks from this cut-throat. Let me remind you that his wife and children are still at his farm. It will be natural, then, to billet most of the soldiers upon her. But this is not enough! You must tell her that she will have to answer for it on the gallows if her husband hurts a hair of the mandatar's head--be sure and say the mandatar's!

She is in communication with him, no doubt, and----"

"But this would be illegal!"

"Well, that is for you to judge. I only give you a hint or two, out of kindness. It is you who have to go to Zulawce, not I!"

"Ah!" groaned Kap.r.o.nski, "if it should get known, it would cost me my place."

"Well, tell her without witnesses, then you can give her the lie, if need be. For the rest do as you please--_I_ am safe enough here."

The conversation was interrupted! the governor inviting his guests to move to the dining-room. "I have thought," he said, addressing the pair, "it might be most agreeable for each of you if we put you together."

Kap.r.o.nski bowed more humbly than ever, Hajek smiling blandly. He had made up his mind to let everybody feel mortified, but not himself--he was not going to be annoyed, not he! And he carried out his resolution; easier for him, no doubt, than for a man of higher mettle.

He drove home in the best of humours, and how he whiled away the rest of his time, attuning his mind for the events of the evening, we have had a glimpse of already. We need not describe the solemnities at the villa, touching as they were, for we know the programme, which was minutely followed. There were not many to witness the scene; but the old dame had set her heart on the play-acting, and the mandatar, to please her, fell in with her fancy. The manner of his kneeling to Wanda was quite cla.s.sical, and supper was consumed amid charming hilarity, not forgetting some wonderful verses with which Thaddy astonished the company.

But when the guests had departed, a final and real surprise was in store for the happy bridegroom. He was cooling his brow at the open window, when suddenly he perceived his coachman, Jasko, in conversation with a horseman a little way up the road. He could see that the stranger wore the Huzul garb. The night was dark, and a faint gleam only from the lighted house fell on the road, but Hajek nevertheless recognised the horseman. "Good heavens!" he shrieked, "stop him! Seize him!"

Bogdan and the countess rushed up terrified; but the stranger also had heard the alarm, and spurring his horse, he dashed away and was lost to sight.

"My coachman! I entreat you send for my coachman!" cried Hajek, beside himself. Jasko was called in. "That was Wa.s.silj Soklewicz you were talking with just now?" said the mandatar, quaking.

"Yes, sir," replied the man, wonderingly.

"Don't you know he is one of the outlaws--one of Taras's band?"

"Mercy on us!" cried the coachman, aghast. "He a.s.sured me he had taken service with the mandatar at Prinkowce, and I believed him, telling him all about ourselves on Tuesday and Thursday and this evening. I told him: 'We need not fear Taras now, for we are going to marry a rich lady, and shall live at Drinkowce. In the meantime, we are quite safe at Colomea.' At which he laughed, telling me there was no saying what might happen between now and the wedding; indeed soon----"

"Soon! soon!" groaned the mandatar, falling back on a chair. It chanced to be the fauteuil near the palms and things. The comedy was being changed into tragedy.

Bogdan recovered himself first. "I do not believe," he said, "that Taras is in the neighbourhood and likely to attack you in your chambers or on your way back to the town; but we will hold ourselves prepared for the worst. Stay here for the night. I'll have the gates closed, my men can be armed, and I will send for a.s.sistance to the main guardhouse."

And so he did, but the protection he was able to hold out to his worthy son-in-law proved of the poorest nevertheless. The officer on duty sent back orders not to trouble him with idle tales; and, concerning his own servants, Bogdan knew that they would throw down their arms at the first sight of danger.

"If Taras indeed were to come, _I_ cannot protect you," he confessed to the mandatar. "We are not without neighbours, but none of them would stir to help us."

And with this agreeable a.s.surance they kept watching through the night.

CHAPTER XIII.

THE BANNER UNFURLED.

The excitement of the people of Zulawce rose steadily as the Easter sun was sinking to its rest. The cottages stood forsaken; the community had gathered beneath the linden. The men were fully armed and many a fierce threat was uttered against the "villain in the iron closet"; but the peasants seemed fully resolved to take no part whatever in the coming work of revenge. None of the inmates or dependents of the manor-house were present. The under-steward, Boleslaw, had ordered the gates to be closed, addressing his men in the courtyard. "Let us not act foolishly," he said. "There is no doubt but that Taras will come, since the report of the iron closet is so fully believed in; but he will not harm us, if we open the doors to him to let him see that there is no such thing as an iron closet in the place, and that the mandatar is not with us. Our only fear is that the peasantry may grow revengeful, and attack us when he is gone. Let us be ready to resist them, but we will not fight Taras."

Nor had any of a.n.u.sia's people joined the public gathering; her orders had been sufficient. She herself was sitting in the large family-room, holding little Tereska on her lap, while her boys pressed close to her with an indefinable fear. The children dared not speak, for the mother seemed sunk in that strange stupor which had kept her to the bed of sickness but lately.

Father Leo and the little popadja found her thus. A greeting was exchanged, but conversation would not flow. It was impossible to talk of indifferent matters, and they shrank from touching upon that which filled their hearts. So they sat silent, a red light streaming in through the windows; for the sun, like a glowing ball of fire, was sinking behind the fir-covered uplands.

"How red it looks," whispered little Wa.s.silj, pointing to the parting glory.

"It forbodes blood," said Halko, under his breath.

"Blood," echoed the poor mother with staring eyes, pressing her children closer.

Father Leo could bear it no longer. He went near to her, taking her hand gently. "a.n.u.sia," he said, "do _you_ believe----?"

"What do I know," she interrupted him, sharply. "Am I of the avenger's band? I am a widow, anxious to keep the peace for my children's sake."

Leo paced the room. "That is well," he said, presently. "I wish all the people were like you. They say they will not join him, but I fear their own wild disposition will be too much for them."

a.n.u.sia made no answer, and he sat down again in silence. Thus they continued, amid the sinking shadows, in the darkening room.

But suddenly they started, and the children gave a cry of alarm. There had been a tapping at the window which overlooked the garden. It was the window to the west catching the last glimmer of light; no one outside was visible, but as they gazed a hand was lifted cautiously from below, once more tapping the pane.

"It is father!" cried the children, and the pope rose.

"Hush, children," said a.n.u.sia, in a whisper, but so impressively that they forthwith obeyed. "Please keep quiet, Father Leo. It is not Taras, but his messenger ... sit still ... I am his wife and must answer when he calls."

Another tap, and a.n.u.sia glided from the room. They heard the outer door creak on its hinges, and knew she was in the garden.

The children fell to sobbing, but the popadja put her arms round them, beginning to say her prayers, good soul. Leo had risen, listening intently; but not a sound was heard till the firm footstep of the returning woman fell on their ear. She entered, carrying a lamp in her hand. They could see her face; the old look of icy calm had once more settled on it.

"Is it good news?" questioned Leo, eagerly.

"Yes--that is to say in some respects." She smiled bitterly. "Anyhow, pope, you will be able to do a good service to your parishioners."

"I am most willing--what is it?"

"Go and tell them to go home quietly, for their own sakes."

"I have told them, and tried my best already. Will you tell me what Taras----?"