"These night marches are good," said Zbierhovski, and he smiled while he was speaking. "The heat does not trouble, and it is possible to serve others. Do you wish to examine these captives immediately?"
"Since I have looked at them closely already, it is not needed. The court in the town will examine them, and the headsman will guide them."
At this a tall, bony fellow, with a gloomy face, and light hair pushed out from the captives and said, as he bent to Pan Serafin's stirrup.
"Great mighty lord, spare our lives, and we will tell truth. We are common bandits, but the attack was not common."
The priest and Pan Serafin, on hearing this, looked at each other with roused curiosity.
"Who art thou?" asked the priest.
"I am a chief. There were two of us, for this party was formed of two bands, but the other man fell. Give me pardon, and I will tell everything."
Father Voynovski stopped for a moment.
"We cannot save you from justice," said he, "but for you it is better in every case to tell truth, than be forced to declare it under torture. Besides, if ye confess, God's judgment and man's will be more lenient."
The bandit looked at his companions, uncertain whether to speak or be silent. Meanwhile the priest added,--