"But I do," cried the Jew, eagerly. "She dare not leave the mountains, because prison still awaits her in the lowlands; but we must place her where Julko's power is not acknowledged. I have thought it might be best to take her to Zabie; I have acquaintances there, an old Jewish innkeeper and his wife, who I doubt not will give her shelter. They have no children of their own, and I know they can be trusted. I mentioned the girl's sad history there the other day, and the good wife shed tears, assuring me she would love to show kindness to one in such trouble."
"But if Julko should follow me thither?" interposed the girl, anxiously.
"Even if he should, he will not dare to use violence," said the Jew. "But I do not think him capable of that. He is not a scoundrel, but only a lawless youth whose nature at times is too strong for him, and who never learned to keep it under. Moreover, it is true Huzul fashion--out of sight, out of mind. You will be safe there, I think."
"Let us hope so," said Taras, deciding for this plan; "for, indeed, we have no other choice. Make ready, poor girl, to ride with us!"
And turning to Karol now, he required his report.
"Captain, it is just fearful!" asserted this man, "If that priest at Kossowince was a fiend, this baron is one double-dyed." And therewith he proceeded to give instances of his atrocious cruelty and oppression.
"Have the people appealed to the law?" inquired Taras.
"Indeed, they have; but he is not only the greatest scoundrel, but the vilest liar under the sun. He has given the lie to every accusation, and the magistrates have believed the nobleman rather than the poor, ignorant peasants. Ah! captain, you should have seen their grateful tears when I told them I was one of your men, and that you had sent me. They are waiting and hoping for you now, as for their only saviour; but hear their own messengers."
And his companions came nearer--a poorly-clad elderly man of dignified bearing, who introduced himself as Harassim Perko, the judge of Borsowka, and a younger peasant wearing a fine sheepskin. He called himself Wassilj Bertulak, and his voice was husky, as with suppressed tears, in giving his tale of woe; indeed, he could hardly speak.
"Our people have sent me because the monster's most recent crime has laid low the pride of my life. Ah! my poor daughter!" and he turned away, overcome with sobs. But all the more minute was the judge's account, and it did not require his final entreaty to confirm Taras's resolve that he must start on the spot for Borsowka.