"I cannot--dare not," said Taras, breathing hard and wiping the dews from his forehead. "I would--ah, how gladly would I forgive him!--but this sacred cause!... Say your prayers, man."
"Mercy!" moaned Stas once more, and fell in a swoon. Taras stepped back, and, pointing his pistol, lodged a bullet in the motionless head. The man was dead on the spot. A cry of horror went round the room, and silence settled, the larks outside continuing their song of praise.
"He was unable to commend his soul to God, let us do so for him," said Taras, with the same husky voice. He crossed himself, and with quivering lips spoke a prayer for the dead, the others repeating it after him, awe-struck.
"Let us be gone now!"
They left the chamber of death, calling together their men, and mounted their horses. But the captain's face continued white and fearfully rigid.
"How shall we thank you!" said the judge.
"Not at all," returned Taras, sternly. "For if I had done it for your own sakes merely, I could but turn the pistol against myself now!" He spurred his horse, making for the manse, where Nashko and his men stood ready to mount.
"Three of us have fallen," reported the Jew, "and we killed fourteen of the soldiers. I used every precaution, but----"
"Have we any wounded?" interrupted the captain.
"No--that is, one man is slightly hurt; but able to mount horse."