“To-morrow you will die in disgrace!” bellowed Kmita.
“The Tartars are in Suhovola!”
“The prince is a traitor!”
“We are fighting against the king!”
“Strike!”
“To the prince!”
“Halt!”
In the disturbance some sabre had cut the ropes tying Kmita’s hands. He sprang that moment on one of the horses which were to draw Soroka on the stake, and cried from the horse,—
“Follow me to the hetman!”
“I go!” shouted Glovbich. “Long life to the king!”