On the third day, which they spent under the shelter of the forest by the Czeremosz, Taras consulted his men, whether they had better return to the camp in the Dembronia Forest, trusting to the Huzuls for further assistance in any considerable enterprise, or move northward to the Welyki Lys and gather a new band to their banner. But they would not decide. "We follow you whichever way you lead us," they said.
"Well, then," said Taras; "I am for taking you back to the Dembronia Forest. The Huzuls, certainly, are troublesome confederates, but we must not consult our feelings, we must do what seems best for the cause we serve. While Hilarion is inclined to back us we are strong, whereas without him we might not always be able to fight great wrongs effectively."
It was late in the evening of this day that they rode into Zabie. The village lay hushed in sleep, the cottages standing dark and silent, the inn excepted, whence a pale light gleamed, though the place was closed for the night. Taras rode up to one of the uncurtained windows, and peered in. The large bar-room was empty, save for a bowed figure sitting by the hearth, motionless.
"It is Froïm, the innkeeper," cried Nashko, who was looking in at another window. "For God's sake--I trust nothing has happened!" And, trembling violently, he tapped at the pane.
The old Jew started, turning to the table as if to extinguish the flickering lamp. But recognising Nashko's voice, he came to the window instead, opening it, and saying with a hoarse whisper: "I suppose you would like to have a last look at her!"
"Tatiana!" cried Taras. "Man, say, what is it?"
"We could not have her laid out here," continued the innkeeper, slowly and shaking with emotion. "Poor lamb! we would have loved to show her that last honour, but we are Jews. She is in the little chapel of the cemetery, and to-morrow they are going to bury her."
"She is dead!" cried Nashko, with anguished voice.
"Did you not know? I thought you might have returned so speedily for this sad reason," cried Froïm. "We got her out of the water yesterday--the good pope here, and myself, and some of the villagers; but it was hard work, for the Czeremosz is a cruel river, holding fast its prey."
"Tell us," cried Taras, "who has dared to take her life?"