Sanecki considered a moment. "Well, then," he said, "let it be Hawrilo b.u.mbak and Iwon Serecki."

"Captain," broke in Jacek, "do not be outwitted by this scoundrel. He has named these men because they live at the furthest end of the parish. He hopes to gain time."

"Never mind, we are in no such hurry. You also shall name two men to be called as witnesses against him."

"Let it be those whom you know already," decided Jacek, without a moment's hesitation. "Hara.s.sim, the judge, and Stephen, one of the elders, since they carried our complaints to you."

"Very well," said Taras. "These four witnesses shall be called. Follow him, Julko, Stas, and Jemilian; mount your horses below, and get some of Nashko's men, if possible, in case of any hindrance from the soldiers about the village; I want those four witnesses with the least delay."

"And will you stay here by yourself?" inquired the Royal Eagle, doubtfully.

"Yes; he shall not escape me." And drawing his pistol he took his position in front of the priest.

The men went on their errand.

"Now listen," said Taras, when left alone with the culprit. "The slightest movement on your part, and I shall lodge this bullet in your brain. For the rest you may spend the time as you please. It might be as well to say your prayers, since I may not be able to allow you much time presently. I have little hope that you will see the rising sun yonder in his full-day glory."

Sanecki gazed in the direction pointed at with unsteady eyes. The window opened upon the vast plain, a ridge of cloud in the far east burning with a crimson glow. But somehow he appeared to draw strength from the sight, the growing light kindling his courage. "It is well I should offer up prayer," he said; "less for myself than for you, who are in danger of dipping your hands into innocent blood."

Taras made no answer, continuing motionless with uplifted pistol. The priest folded his hands, saying prayers with a loud voice. For the s.p.a.ce of about ten minutes they were thus left alone, after which Stas returned with Stephen, the elder, and almost immediately after Jemilian with Hara.s.sim, the judge.

"Take your oath that you will speak the truth," said Taras; and the aged witnesses lifted their right hands, swearing.

"Speak, judge; what is your accusation against this man?"

"I went to him at All Saints'," said the old man, trembling with the memory of it, "to arrange with him for the rendering of the t.i.thes we owe him. He demanded more than his due, I refused and left him; no unbecoming word had been spoken. But that same evening I was taken up by his orders and cast into a miserable dungeon, where I spent a week in complete darkness, and all the food he allowed me was mouldy bread and rank water. My sons implored him to release me, but he said in his capacity as mandatar he must punish me because I had offended the priest. For a fine of two hundred florins, however, he would release me. Now considering my age--I am more than seventy--and because I should have perished in the damp prison, they raised the money; he took it, charging me an extra twenty florins, to refund his expenses of keeping me for a week."

"And you, Stephen?"

"My wife lay dying at the Epiphany," said the elder. "I called upon the priest to prepare her for the great change, by administering the blessed sacrament. He refused until I should have atoned for a grave offence with the payment of a hundred florins. I could not find the sum, and my poor wife had to die unaneled, and was buried like a dog outside the churchyard ... my poor wife!" sobbed the old man, hiding his face in his bands, "my good, pious wife!"

"What was the offence he charged you with?"

"I had crossed myself inadvertently after the old style, and he happened to see it."

The hetman flushed purple with indignation. "Is this the truth, old man?"

"The truth indeed, the Almighty is my witness."

"Have you anything to say for yourself?" he now inquired of the priest.

"Only this, that they speak falsely," returned Sanecki, with choking voice.

"Falsely!" cried Stephen, horrified. "Man, think of the Judge above!"

"Yes," said Taras quietly, "it were well he did so. However, let us hear his own witnesses."

There was a pause of silence in the chamber, the twilight of which was slowly but steadily yielding to the ruddy glow from the east, a broad stream of light flowing in through the window when Julko and Jacek returned with the other two witnesses, whom the priest had called for himself.

The men in question entered diffidently--they had not been told why they were wanted--looking aghast on learning that the priest had seen fit to appeal to them. "To us," they cried, "what could we say in his favour?"

Taras put them on their oath. "Now," he said, "what have you to affirm concerning this man?"

They were silent for a moment, but then Iwon burst out with--"Just this, that he _is_ a fiend!"

"Yes, a very fiend," reiterated Hawrilo.

"Have you anything to say for yourself?" Taras once more inquired of Sanecki.

"No, nothing," he made answer calmly. The self-command of this man was astounding. His face was corpse-like, but his lips, even at this extremity, had a smile, though it was an appalling, a ghastly smile. "I have miscalculated my chances," he said, half to himself--"miscalculated, it is a pity!"

Taras now addressed the men present. "It is my opinion that this man has forfeited his life. Is there any here to say I am wrong?"

Not a sound in the chamber--Death seemed counting the grains. But in the fair world without the beauty of morning had conquered the shadows, the larks meeting the sun with a jubilant song.

There was a clock in the room, the hands pointing to six minutes before five. "These minutes I will give you," said Taras, addressing the doomed priest, "that you may recommend your sinful soul to its Maker."

Even now the man quaked not, standing proud and erect. "Miscalculated!"

he repeated. With a quick movement his hand dived into his ample garment, and withdrawing it as quickly, he carried a phial to his lips.

The men caught his arm, but it was too late, they were in time only to support the dead man's frame.

"What a pity," cried Jacek; "I would have given anything to see him swing."

"For shame!" returned Taras, sternly. "He was an evil-doer, but he had the courage of a man! Lay him on his bed!... He has at least shown us that a man can die, if need be."

There was a solemn pause, after which he addressed the judge. "One thing yet before our work is complete. The village has suffered at the hands of this man. You shall take what money there is found here, to be divided justly among the people.... Stas and Jemilian, search the place."

"May we not offer you a part for yourself?" returned the judge; "it were but right and fair."

"No," said Taras, curtly.

"But you will let us give some of it to your men?"

"No, they are no paid a.s.sa.s.sins, but serving justice."

"But you must live!"

"I have enough for the present to provide for our needs, and when my own means fail, others, no doubt, will be forthcoming."

Stas and Jemilian at this moment returned from the adjoining apartment.

"This appears to be money," said the former, placing a cash box upon the table.

"Force the lid," said Taras to the judge, "I would rather not touch it."

But the old man could not succeed with his trembling fingers, until Jacek came to his a.s.sistance. The box burst open with a jerk, revealing, however, only a moderate bundle of banknotes, beneath which lay a number of securities of considerable value. "The notes only are of use to us," said the judge, counting them. "Not much over a thousand florins," he stated presently; "the loss we have suffered is about twenty-fold."

Old Jemilian was standing aside, pale and trembling, and trying to come to a conclusion. Now he stepped up to his master, saying, with faltering voice, "I hoped to tell you some other time, but I see now you must know at once. There was more where we found the casket--a purse, I saw it plainly, which Stas put into his own pocket."