He fell back, and lay motionless. The villagers were deeply moved by his words. They stood silent, and many of them wept.
"Poor fellow!" said an old peasant at length, "why has fate dealt with you in this manner? You were a good neighbour, and I thought you would close my eyes after my death, as I closed your father's eyes before you."
Viola turned his glance upon the speaker.
"Old man," said he, "when you pass my house, and see it desolate or inhabited by strangers, you will not forget Viola, your neighbour, who owned it in former times. God sees my soul! it was not by my own fault that I came to be what I am. May God have mercy upon me, and upon those who made me a robber!"
"Clear the way! let me pass! for mercy's sake, let me come to him!" cried a female voice at a distance; and as the people fell back on each side, old Mother Liptaka came running up to her dying kinsman.
"Take him up!" cried she. "Why don't you take him to the village? There's life, and hope, and help! Come along, some of you, and carry him to my house!"
"Leave me alone, coz!" said Viola, drawing his breath with great difficulty; "leave me alone! Nothing can do me good. It's over with me, and it serves me right. There's blood on my hands, and I pay for it with my own blood. Heaven is just, coz! But since die I must, let me die here in the free air of heaven, and in the warm rays of the sun."
His voice grew fainter and fainter.
He moved his hand.
The Liptaka, obedient to his wish, knelt down by his side.