Taras put them on their oath. "Now," he said, "what have you to affirm concerning this man?"
They were silent for a moment, but then Iwon burst out with--"Just this, that he is a fiend!"
"Yes, a very fiend," reiterated Hawrilo.
"Have you anything to say for yourself?" Taras once more inquired of Sanecki.
"No, nothing," he made answer calmly. The self-command of this man was astounding. His face was corpse-like, but his lips, even at this extremity, had a smile, though it was an appalling, a ghastly smile. "I have miscalculated my chances," he said, half to himself--"miscalculated, it is a pity!"
Taras now addressed the men present. "It is my opinion that this man has forfeited his life. Is there any here to say I am wrong?"
Not a sound in the chamber--Death seemed counting the grains. But in the fair world without the beauty of morning had conquered the shadows, the larks meeting the sun with a jubilant song.
There was a clock in the room, the hands pointing to six minutes before five. "These minutes I will give you," said Taras, addressing the doomed priest, "that you may recommend your sinful soul to its Maker."
Even now the man quaked not, standing proud and erect. "Miscalculated!" he repeated. With a quick movement his hand dived into his ample garment, and withdrawing it as quickly, he carried a phial to his lips. The men caught his arm, but it was too late, they were in time only to support the dead man's frame.
"What a pity," cried Jacek; "I would have given anything to see him swing."