“Your highness, I shall go wild, I believe! My life, my blood belongs to your highness. What must I do to thank you,—what? Tell me, command me!”
“Return good for good. Have faith in me, have confidence that what I do I do for the public good. Do not fall away from me when you see the treason and desertion of others, when malice increases, when—” Here the prince stopped suddenly.
“I swear,” said Kmita, with ardor, “and give my word of honor to remain by the person of your highness, my leader, father, and benefactor, to my last breath.”
Then Kmita looked with eyes full of fire at the prince, and was alarmed at the change which had suddenly come over him. His face was purple, the veins swollen, drops of sweat were hanging thickly on his lofty forehead, and his eyes cast an unusual gleam.
“What is the matter, your highness?” asked the knight, unquietly.
“Nothing! nothing!”
Radzivill rose, moved with hurried step to a kneeling desk, and taking from it a crucifix, said with powerful, smothered voice, “Swear on this cross that you will not leave me till death.”
In spite of all his readiness and ardor, Kmita looked for a while at him with astonishment.
“On this passion of Christ, swear!” insisted the hetman.
“On this passion of Christ, I swear!” said Kmita, placing his finger on the crucifix.