But the old man could not succeed with his trembling fingers, until Jacek came to his assistance. The box burst open with a jerk, revealing, however, only a moderate bundle of banknotes, beneath which lay a number of securities of considerable value. "The notes only are of use to us," said the judge, counting them. "Not much over a thousand florins," he stated presently; "the loss we have suffered is about twenty-fold."
Old Jemilian was standing aside, pale and trembling, and trying to come to a conclusion. Now he stepped up to his master, saying, with faltering voice, "I hoped to tell you some other time, but I see now you must know at once. There was more where we found the casket--a purse, I saw it plainly, which Stas put into his own pocket."
Taras grew deadly white, staggering as though he had received a blow. "Is--is it--true?" he said, stammering with the shock of it.
But Stas fell to the ground at his feet. "Forgive it--this once," he faltered. "The money tempted me. Ah, mercy!"
Taras passed his hand across his brow. "Where is the purse?" he said, hollow-voiced.
The man, still kneeling, produced it.
"Take it, judge ... count it."
"Seventeen florins," reported the old man.
"Well, put it with the rest." He spoke hoarsely, a fearful agitation convulsing his frame. "Stas," he said, presently, with the same choking voice, "I grieve for you with all my heart. You have known much trouble, it is hard to see you end so ignominiously. But I cannot save you--say your prayers, Stas!"
"Ah, mercy!" groaned the unhappy man, the others joining: "Yes, hetman, forgive him this once!"