"No; she has done that once too often already, and is grievously sorry for it now. It is not you, though, who are to blame--nor in fact, is she, poor thing--but her sweetheart, Jacek, that good-for-nothing rascal; if you can pay him out for it, 'twere well if you did. For it was a damned lie, all that story at Borsowka----"
"At Borsowka?'" exclaimed Taras, staggering. "At Borsowka!" he repeated hoarsely. And clutching the fiddler with his strong hand, he dragged him from the saddle and shook him till the poor creature gasped for breath. "Speak the truth!... Is it that Marinia who sent you?"
"You are strangling me! Help!" groaned the fiddler. "It is not my fault ... help!... murder!"
At this moment Nashko, who had heard the cry, came out, followed by the others.
"What is it?" they inquired, and the Jew, taking in the situation, endeavoured to free the agonised messenger from the captain's powerful grasp.
"Aren't you rather hard on him?" he whispered to his friend. "What has he come for?"
But Taras, letting go his hold, stared about him like one demented, and a shriek burst from him--"A horse! for God's sake, a horse!" His men moved not, utterly confounded. But he broke away, dragging a horse from the barn, the first he could lay hold on, and mounting it without saddle or bridle dashed away in the direction of Zabie as fast as the frightened animal could carry him.
Two hours later he stopped by the inn. The horse was done for. He cared not, but rushed up to old Froïm, who came to meet him. "Where is she?" he cried, wildly.
"Who? the sick woman?" inquired the innkeeper. "We made up a bed for her in the little lean-to."
Another minute and Taras stood by the couch. The girl had greatly changed since that terrible night. She looked as though she had passed through an illness, and her eyes were deep in their sockets. "Ah," she moaned, "you have come, and I may tell you. It has left me no peace day or night. I ran away from Jacek to look for my uncle Gregori, that he might try and find you, for he was always...."