“Take them!” cried Kmita; and he seized the officer himself by the shoulder.
An uproar and struggle began around the carriage. The shouts of the Tartars deadened the cries for assistance and the screams of terror coming from the breasts of the women.
But the struggle did not last long, for a few minutes later the horsemen were lying on the road tied, one at the side of the other.
Kmita gave command to flog them with bullock-skin whips, but not beyond measure, so that they might retain strength to walk back to Zamost. The common soldiers received one hundred, and the officer a hundred and fifty lashes, in spite of the prayers and entreaties of Anusia, who not knowing what was passing around her, and thinking that she had fallen into terrible hands, began to implore with joined palms and tearful eyes for her life.
“Spare my life, knight! In what am I guilty before you? Spare me, spare me!”
“Be quiet, young lady!” roared Kmita.
“In what have I offended?”
“Maybe you are in the plot yourself?”
“In what plot? O God, be merciful to me, a sinner!”
“Then you did not know that Pan Zamoyski only permitted your departure apparently, so as to separate you from the princess and carry you off on the road, to make an attempt on your honor in some empty castle?”