"And that is an honest reason?"
"Taras admitted it as such. But he nevertheless refused the young man's request, because he had assisted Green Giorgi in a deed of cowardly violence. He gave this account of it himself, crestfallen enough: 'Some weeks ago,' he said, 'while scouring the lower Bukowina, we received information that a Jewish wine-merchant from Czernowitz was travelling by himself along the mountain road to Transylvania. On learning this, the captain disguised himself as a peasant, requesting me to do likewise. We lay in waiting by the roadside. The Jew arrived presently, driving his car, and Green Giorgi begged him to give us a lift. He good-naturedly agreed, although his vehicle was small, and, taking our places beside him, we drove on for about a couple of hours, engaging him in conversation. But on entering the dark, narrow valley of the Putna, the captain stunned him with a sudden blow, ordering me to fire, which I did, yet with so trembling a hand that the bullet merely grazed his arm. Thereupon Green Giorgi drew his pistol and despatched him.' Thus Iwan, amid sobs and groans; we listened horror-struck, but no one was more moved than Taras himself.
"'Was not the Jew a broad-built man, with a reddish beard, and blue, kindly eyes?' he inquired presently, with husky voice. 'Yes, yes,' groaned Iwan; 'ah, it is those eyes I cannot get rid of....' 'Villain!' cried Taras, 'I knew the man; he showed me a similar kindness. But even if I had never seen him I could have nothing to do with an assassin!' 'Have pity on me,' pleaded Iwan, 'I could not gainsay the captain, and it was but a Jew!' 'Away, villain!' repeated Taras furiously; 'is a Jew not a man? And you need obey no one for the committing of murder!' Iwan fell on his knees. 'If you reject me, I can but shoot myself,' he cried. 'There will be no harm done if you do,' said Taras, 'for it is what you have deserved!' We turned from him, going our way. And he did as he had threatened, the lads of old Michalko telling us only yesterday that they found him dead in the forest, the discharged pistol in his stiffened hand. We were sorry, but Taras never altered a look...."
The priest paced his room excitedly while this report was being given, and now he stood still. "These, then, are your hunting pleasures!" he cried, wringing his hands. "Is this the pastime by which Taras hopes to regain his spirits? And the worst of it is, it seems to delight him--he will return for Palm Sunday only! How do we know he will return then?"
"He will keep his word," said the man, confidently. "I was no less alarmed than you, and would not have come hither with his message had he not sworn faithfully to return by Palm Sunday."
Father Leo took comfort, asking presently: "And did he tell you what he means to do now?"
"Not in so many words, but I am pretty sure he will now take us through the Bukowina...."
Leo stared at the man, horror-struck, his whole figure trembling. His plump, honest face was livid with the thought that had come to him. He grew purple and white again, and big drops stood on his forehead. "Jemilian...." he groaned.
The man had watched him, his own appearance as it were reflecting the pope's emotion. But now he stretched forth his hands as though combating an unworthy suspicion. "No, no!" he cried, "do not--do not insult the pure-hearted man!"
The pope drew a deep breath, and fell again to pacing his room.