XLI

The towns through which Basia passed in going from Hreptyoff to Rashkoff were separated from each other by ten or twelve Ukraine miles,26 and that road by the Dniester was about thirty miles long. It is true that they started each morning in the dark, and did not stop till late in the evening; still, they made the whole journey, including time for refreshment, and in spite of difficult crossings and passages, in three days. People of that time and troops did not make such quick journeys usually; but whoso had the will, or was put to it, could make them. In view of this, Basia calculated that the journey back to Hreptyoff ought to take less time, especially as she was making it on horseback, and as it was a flight in which salvation depended on swiftness.

But she noted her error the first day, for unable to escape on the road by the Dniester, she went through the steppes and had to make broad circuits. Besides she might go astray, and it was probable that she would; she might meet with thawed rivers, impassable, dense forests, swamps not freezing even in winter; she might come to harm from people or beasts⁠—therefore, though she intended to push on continually, even at night, she was confirmed in the conviction in spite of herself that, even if all went well with her, God knew when she would be in Hreptyoff.

She had succeeded in tearing herself from the arms of Azya; but what would happen farther on? Doubtless anything was better than those infamous arms; still, at thought of what was awaiting her the blood became icy in her veins.

It occurred at once to her that if she spared the horses she might be overtaken by Azya’s men, who knew those steppes thoroughly; and to hide from discovery, from pursuit, was almost impossible. They pursued Tartars whole days even in spring and summer when horses’ hoofs left no trace on the snow or in soft earth; they read the steppe as an open book; they gazed over those plains like eagles; they knew how to sniff a trail in them like hunting dogs; their whole life was passed in pursuing. Vainly had Tartars gone time and again in the water of streams so as not to leave traces; Cossacks, Lithuanian Tartars, and Cheremis, as well as Polish raiders of the steppe, knew how to find them, to answer their “methods” with “methods,” and to attack as suddenly as if they had sprung up through the earth. How was she to escape from such people unless to leave them so far in the rear that distance itself would make pursuit impossible? But in such an event her horses would fall.

“They will fall dead without fail, if they continue to go as they have gone so far,” thought Basia, with terror, looking at their wet, steaming sides, and at the foam which was falling in flakes to the ground.

Therefore she slackened their speed from time to time and listened; but in every breath of wind, in the rustling of leaves on the edge of ravines, in the dry rubbing of the withered steppe reeds against one another, in the noise made by the wings of a passing bird, even in the silence of the wilderness, which was sounding in her ears, she heard voices of pursuit, and terrified urged on her horses again, and ran with wild impetus till their snorting declared that they could not continue at that speed.

The burden of loneliness and weakness pressed her down more and more. Ah! what an orphan she felt herself; what regret, as immense as unreasoning, rose in her heart for all people, the nearest and dearest, who had so forsaken her! Then she thought that surely it was God punishing her for her passion for adventures, for her hurrying to every hunt, to expeditions, frequently against the will of her husband; for her giddiness and lack of sedateness.

When she thought of this she wept, and raising her head began to repeat, sobbing⁠—

“Chastise, but do not desert me! Do not punish Michael! Michael is innocent.”

Meanwhile night was approaching, and with it cold, darkness, uncertainty of the road, and alarm. Objects had begun to efface themselves, grow dim, lose definite forms, and also to become, as it were, mysteriously alive and expectant. Protuberances on lofty rocks looked like heads in pointed and round caps⁠—heads peering out from behind gigantic walls of some kind, and gazing in silence and malignity to see who was passing below. Tree branches, stirred by the breeze, made motions like people: some of these beckoned to Basia as if wishing to call her and confide to her some terrible secret; others seemed to speak and give warning: “Do not come near!” The trunks of uprooted trees seemed like monstrous creatures crouching for a spring. Basia was daring, very daring, but, like all people of that period, she was superstitious. When darkness came down completely, the hair rose on her head, and shivers passed through her body at thought of the unclean powers that might dwell in those regions. She feared vampires especially; belief in them was spread particularly in the Dniester country by reason of nearness to Moldavia, and just the places around Yampol and Rashkoff were ill-famed in that regard. How many people there left the world day by day through sudden death, without confession or absolution! Basia remembered all the tales which the knights had told at Hreptyoff, on evenings at the fireside⁠—stories of deep valleys in which, when the wind howled, sudden groans were heard of “Jesus, Jesus!” of pale lights in which something was snorting; of laughing cliffs; of pale children, suckling infants with green eyes and monstrous heads⁠—infants which implored to be taken on horseback, and when taken began to suck blood; finally, of heads without bodies, walking on spider legs; and most terrible of all those ghastlinesses, vampires of full size, or brukolaki, so called in Wallachia, who hurled themselves on people directly.

Then she began to make the sign of the cross, and she did not stop till her hand had grown weak; but even then she repeated the litany, for no other weapons were effective against unclean powers.

The horses gave her consolation, for they showed no fear, snorting briskly. At times she patted her pony, as if wishing in that way to convince herself that she was in a real world.

The night, very dark at first, became clearer by degrees, and at last the stars began to glimmer through the thin mist. For Basia this was an uncommonly favorable circumstance⁠—first, because her fear decreased; and secondly, because by observing the Great Bear, she could turn to the north, or in the direction of Hreptyoff. Looking on the region about, she calculated that she had gone a considerable distance from the Dniester; for there were fewer rocks, more open country, more hills covered with oak groves, and frequently broad plains. Time after time, however, she was forced to cross ravines, and she went down into them with fear in her heart, for in the depths of those places it was always dark, and a harsh, piercing cold was there. Some were so steep that she was forced to go around them; from this came great loss of time and an addition to the journey.

It was worse, however, with streams and rivers, and a whole system of these flowed from the East to the Dniester. All were thawed, and the horses snorted with fear when they went at night into strange water of unknown depth. Basia crossed only in places where the sloping bank allowed the supposition that the water, widely spread there, was shallow. In fact, it was so in most cases; at some crossings, however, the water reached halfway to the backs of her horses: Basia then knelt, in soldier fashion, on the saddle, and, holding to the pommel, tried not to wet her feet. But she did not succeed always in this, and soon a piercing cold seized her from feet to knees.

“God give me daylight, I will go more quickly,” repeated she, from time to time.

At last she rode out onto a broad plain with a sparse forest, and seeing that the horses were barely dragging their legs, she halted for rest. Both stretched their necks to the ground at the same time, and putting forward one foot, began to pluck moss and withered grass eagerly. In the forest there was perfect silence, unbroken save by the sharp breathing of the horses and the crunching of the grass in their powerful jaws.

When they had satisfied, or rather deceived, their first hunger, both horses wished evidently to roll, but Basia might not indulge them in that. She dared not loosen the girths and come to the ground herself, for she wished to be ready at every moment for further flight.

She sat on Azya’s horse, however, for her own had carried her from the last resting-place, and though strong, and with noble blood in his veins, he was more delicate than the other.

When she had changed horses, she felt a hunger after the thirst which she had quenched a number of times while crossing the rivers; she began therefore to eat the seeds which she had found in the bag at Azya’s saddlebow. They seemed to her very good, though a little bitter; she ate, thanking God for the unlooked-for refreshment.

But she ate sparingly, so that they might last to Hreptyoff. Soon sleep began to close her eyelids with irresistible power; and when the movement of the horse ceased to give warmth, a sharp cold pierced her. Her feet were perfectly stiff; she felt also an immeasurable weariness in her whole body, especially in her back and shoulders, strained with struggling against Azya. A great weakness seized her, and her eyes closed.

But after a while she opened them with effort. “No! In the daytime, in time of journeying, I will sleep,” thought she; “but if I sleep now I shall freeze.”

But her thoughts grew more confused, or came helter-skelter, presenting disordered images⁠—in which the forest, flight and pursuit, Azya, the little knight, Eva, and the last event were mingled together half in a dream, half in clear vision. All this was rushing on somewhere as waves rush driven by the wind; and she, Basia, runs with them, without fear, without joy, as if she were travelling by contract. Azya, as it were, was pursuing her, but at the same time was talking to her, and anxious about the horse; Pan Zagloba was angry because supper would get cold; Michael was showing the road; and Eva was coming behind in the sleigh, eating dates.

Then those persons became more and more effaced, as if a foggy curtain or darkness had begun to conceal them, and they vanished by degrees; there remained only a certain strange darkness, which, though the eye did not pierce it, seemed still to be empty, and to extend an immeasurable distance. This darkness penetrated every place, penetrated Basia’s head, and quenched in it all visions, all thoughts, as a blast of wind quenches torches at night in the open air.

Basia fell asleep; but fortunately for her, before the cold could stiffen the blood in her veins, an unusual noise roused her. The horses started on a sudden; evidently something uncommon was happening in the forest.

Basia, regaining consciousness in one moment, grasped Azya’s musket, and bending on the horse, with collected attention and distended nostrils, began to listen. Hers was a nature of such kind that every peril roused wariness at the first twinkle of an eye, daring and readiness for defence.

The noise which roused her was the grunting of wild pigs. Whether beasts were stealing up to the young pigs, or the old boars were going to fight, it is enough that the whole forest resounded immediately. That uproar took place beyond doubt at a distance; but in the stillness of night, and the general drowsiness, it seemed so near that Basia heard not only grunting and squeals, but the loud whistle of nostrils breathing heavily. Suddenly a breaking and tramp, the crash of broken twigs, and a whole herd, though invisible to Basia, rushed past in the neighborhood, and sank in the depth of the forest.

But in that incorrigible Basia, notwithstanding her terrible position, the feeling of a hunter was roused in a twinkle, and she was sorry that she had not seen the herd rushing by.

“One would like to see a little,” said she, in her mind; “but no matter! Riding in this way through forests, surely I shall see something yet.”

And only after that thought did she push on, remembering that it was better to see nothing and flee with all speed.

It was impossible to halt longer, because the cold seized her more acutely, and the movement of the horse warmed her a good deal, while wearying her comparatively little. But the horses, having snatched merely some moss and frozen grass, moved very reluctantly, and with drooping heads. The hoarfrost in time of halting had covered their sides, and it seemed that they barely dragged their legs forward. They had gone, moreover, since the afternoon rest almost without drawing breath.

When she had crossed the plain, with her eyes fixed on the Great Bear in the heavens, Basia disappeared in the forest, which was not very dense, but in a hilly region intersected with narrow ravines. It became darker too; not only because of the shade cast by spreading trees, but also because a fog rose from the earth and hid the stars. She was forced to go at random. The ravines alone gave some indication that she was taking the right course, for she knew that they all extended from the east toward the Dniester, and that by crossing new ones, she was going continually toward the north. But in spite of this indication, she thought, “I am ever in danger of approaching the Dniester too nearly, or of going too far from it. To do either is perilous; in the first case, I should make an enormous journey; in the second, I might come out at Yampol, and fall into the hands of my enemies.” Whether she was yet before Yampol, or just on the heights above it, or had left that place behind, of this she had not the faintest idea.

“There is more chance to know when I pass Mohiloff,” said she; “for it lies in a great ravine, which extends far; perhaps I shall recognize it.”

Then she looked at the sky and thought: “God grant me only to go beyond Mohiloff; for there Michael’s dominion begins; there nothing will frighten me.”

Now the night became darker. Fortunately snow was lying in the forest, and on the white ground she could distinguish the dark trunks of trees, see the lower limbs and avoid them. But Basia had to ride more slowly; therefore that terror of unclean powers fell on her soul again⁠—that terror which in the beginning of the night had chilled her blood as if with ice.

“But if I see gleaming eyes low down,” said she to her frightened soul, “that’s nothing! it will be a wolf; but if at the height of a man⁠—” At that moment, she cried aloud, “In the name of the Father, Son⁠—”

Was that, perhaps, a wildcat sitting on a limb? It is sufficient that Basia saw clearly a pair of gleaming eyes, at the height of a man.

From fear, her eyes were covered with a mist; but when she looked again there was nothing to be seen, and nothing heard beyond a rustle among the branches, but her heart beat as loudly as if it would burst open her bosom.

And she rode farther; long, long, she rode, sighing for the light of day; but the night stretched out beyond measure. Soon after, a river barred her road again. Basia was already far enough beyond Yampol, on the bank of the Rosava; but without knowledge of where she was, she thought merely that if she continued to push forward to the north, she would soon meet a new river. She thought too that the night must be near its end; for the cold increased sensibly, the fog fell away, and stars appeared again, but dimmer, beaming with uncertain light.

At length darkness began to pale. Trunks of trees, branches, twigs, grew more visible. Perfect silence reigned in the forest⁠—the dawn had come.

After a certain time Basia could distinguish the color of the horses. At last in the east, among the branches of the trees, a bright streak appeared⁠—the day was there, a clear day.

Basia felt weariness immeasurable. Her mouth opened in continual yawning, and her eyes closed soon after; she slept soundly but a short time, for a branch, against which her head came, roused her. Happily the horses were going very slowly, nipping moss by the way; hence the blow was so slight that it caused her no harm. The sun had risen, and was pale; its beautiful rays broke through leafless branches. At sight of this, consolation entered Basia’s heart; she had left between her and pursuit so many steppes, mountains, ravines, and a whole night.

“If those from Yampol, or Mohiloff, do not seize me, others will not come up,” said she to herself.

She reckoned on this too⁠—that in the beginning of her flight she had gone by a rocky road, therefore hoofs could leave no traces. But doubt began to seize her again. The Lithuanian Tartars will find tracks even on stones, and will pursue stubbornly, unless their horses fall dead; this last supposition was most likely. It was sufficient for Basia to look at her own beasts; their sides had fallen in, their heads were drooping, their eyes dim. While moving along, they dropped their heads to the ground time after time, to seize moss, or nip in passing red leaves withering here and there on the low oak bushes. It must be too that fever was tormenting Basia, for at all crossings she drank eagerly.

Nevertheless, when she came out on an open plain between two forests, she urged the wearied horses forward at a gallop, and went at that pace to the next forest.

After she had passed that forest she came to a second plain, still wider and more broken; behind hills at a distance of a mile or more smoke was rising, as straight as a pine-tree, toward the sky. That was the first inhabited place that Basia had met; for that country, excepting the riverbank itself, was a desert, or rather had been turned into a desert, not only in consequence of Tartar attacks, but by reason of continuous Polish-Cossack wars. After the last campaign of Pan Charnetski, to whom Busha fell a victim, the small towns came to be wretched settlements, the villages were overgrown with young forests; but after Charnetski, there were so many expeditions, so many battles, so many slaughters, down to the most recent times, in which the great Sobieski had wrested those regions from the enemy. Life had begun to increase; but that one tract through which Basia was fleeing was specially empty⁠—only robbers had taken refuge there, but even they had been well-nigh exterminated by the commands at Rashkoff, Yampol, and Hreptyoff.

Basia’s first thought at sight of this smoke was to ride toward it, find a house or even a hut, or if nothing more, a simple fire, warm herself and gain strength. But soon it occurred to her that in those regions it was safer to meet a pack of wolves than to meet men; men there were more merciless and savage than wild beasts. Nay, it behooved her to urge forward her horses, and pass that forest haunt of men with all speed, for only death could await her in that place.

At the very edge of the opposite forest Basia saw a small stack of hay; so, paying no attention to anything, she stopped at it to feed her horses. They ate greedily, thrusting their heads at once to their ears in the hay, and drawing out great bunches of it. Unfortunately their bits hindered them greatly; but Basia could not unbridle them, reasoning correctly in this way:⁠—

“Where smoke is there must be a house; as there is a stack here, they must have horses there on which they could follow me⁠—therefore I must be ready.”

She spent, however, about an hour at the stack, so that the horses ate fairly well; and she herself ate some seeds. She then moved on, and when she had travelled a number of furlongs, all at once she saw before her two persons carrying bundles of twigs on their backs.

One was a man not old, but not in his first youth, with a face pitted with smallpox, and with crooked eyes, ugly, repulsive, with a cruel, ferocious expression of face; the other, a stripling, was idiotic. This was to be seen at the first glance, by his stupid smile and wandering look.

Both threw down their bundles of twigs at sight of the armed horseman, and seemed to be greatly alarmed. But the meeting was so sudden, and they were so near, that they could not flee.

“Glory be to God!” said Basia.

“For the ages of ages.”

“What is the name of this farm?”

“What should its name be? There is the cabin.”

“Is it far to Mohiloff?”

“We know not.”

Here the man began to scrutinize Basia’s face carefully. Since she wore man’s apparel he took her for a youth; insolence and cruelty came at once to his face instead of the recent timidity.

“But why are you so young, Pan Knight?”

“What is that to you?”

“And are you travelling alone?” asked the peasant, advancing a step.

“Troops are following me.”

He halted, looked over the immense plain, and answered⁠—

“Not true. There is no one.”

He advanced two steps; his crooked eyes gave out a sullen gleam, and arranging his mouth he began to imitate the call of a quail, evidently wishing to summon someone in that way.

All this seemed to Basia very hostile, and she aimed a pistol at his breast without hesitation⁠—

“Silence, or thou’lt die!”

The man stopped, and, what is more, threw himself flat on the ground. The idiot did the same, but began to howl like a wolf from terror; perhaps he had lost his mind on a time from the same feeling, for now his howling recalled the most ghastly terror.

Basia urged forward her horses, and shot on like an arrow. Fortunately there was no undergrowth in the forest, and trees were far apart. Soon a new plain appeared, narrow, but very long. The horses had gained fresh strength from eating at the stack, and rushed like the wind.

“They will run home, mount their horses, and pursue me,” thought Basia.

Her only solace was that the horses travelled well, and that the place where she met the men was rather far from the house.

“Before they can reach the house and bring out the horses, I, riding in this way, shall be five miles or more ahead.”

That was the case; but when some hours had passed, and Basia, convinced that she was not followed, slackened speed, great fear, great depression, seized her heart, and tears came perforce to her eyes.

This meeting showed her what people in those regions were, and what might be looked for from them. It is true that this knowledge was not unexpected. From her own experience, and from the narratives at Hreptyoff, she knew that the former peaceful settlers had gone from those wilds, or that war had devoured them; those who remained were living in continual alarm, amid terrible civil disturbance and Tartar attacks, in conditions in which one man is a wolf toward another; they were living without churches or faith, without other principles than those of bloodshed and burning, without knowing any right but that of the strong hand; they had lost all human feelings, and grown wild, like the beasts of the forest. Basia knew this well; still, a human being, astray in the wilderness, harassed by cold and hunger, turns involuntarily for aid first of all to kindred beings. So did Basia when she saw that smoke indicating a habitation of people; following involuntarily the first impulse of her heart, she wished to rush to it, greet the inhabitants with God’s name, and rest her wearied head under their roof. But cruel reality bared its teeth at her quickly, like a fierce dog. Hence her heart was filled with bitterness; tears of sorrow and disappointment came to her eyes.

“Help from no one but God,” thought she; “may I meet no person again.” Then she fell to thinking why that man had begun to imitate a quail. “There must be others there surely, and he wanted to call them.” It came to her head that there were robbers in that tract, who, driven out of the ravines near the river, had betaken themselves to the wilds farther off in the country, where the nearness of broad steppes gave them more safety and easier escape in case of need.

“But what will happen,” inquired Basia, “if I meet a number of men, or more than a dozen? The musket⁠—that is one; two pistols⁠—two; a sabre⁠—let us suppose two more; but if the number is greater than this, I shall die a dreadful death.”

And as in the previous night with its alarms she had wished day to come as quickly as possible, so now she looked with yearning for darkness to hide her more easily from evil eyes.

Twice more, during persistent riding, did it seem to her that she was passing near people. Once she saw on the edge of a high plain a number of cabins. Maybe robbers by vocation were not living in them, but she preferred to pass at a gallop, knowing that even villagers are not much better than robbers; another time she heard the sound of axes cutting wood.

The wished-for night covered the earth at last. Basia was so wearied that when she came to a naked steppe, free from forest, she said to herself⁠—

“Here I shall not be crushed against a tree; I will sleep right away, even if I freeze.”

When she was closing her eyes it seemed to her that far off in the distance, in the white snow, she saw a number of black points which were moving in various directions. For a while longer she overcame her sleep. “Those are surely wolves,” muttered she, quietly.

Before she had gone many yards, those points disappeared; then she fell asleep so soundly that she woke only when Azya’s horse, on which she was sitting, neighed under her.

She looked around; she was on the edge of a forest, and woke in time, for if she had not waked she might have been crushed against a tree.

Suddenly she saw that the other horse was not near her.

“What has happened?” cried she, in great alarm.

But a very simple thing had happened. Basia had tied, it is true, the reins of her horse’s bridle to the pommel of the saddle on which she was sitting; but her stiffened hands served her badly, and she was not able to knot the straps firmly; afterward the reins fell off, and the wearied horse stopped to seek food under the snow or lie down.

Fortunately Basia had her pistol at her girdle, and not in the holsters; the powder-horn and the bag with the rest of the seeds were also with her. Finally the misfortune was not too appalling; for Azya’s horse, though he yielded to hers in speed, surpassed him undoubtedly in endurance of cold and labor. Still, Basia was grieved for her favorite horse, and at the first moment determined to search for him.

She was astonished, however, when she looked around the steppe and saw nothing of the beast, though the night was unusually clear.

“He has stopped behind,” thought she⁠—“surely not gone ahead; but he must have lain down in some hollow, and that is why I cannot see him.”

Azya’s horse neighed a second time, shaking himself somewhat and putting back his ears; but from the steppe he was answered by silence.

“I will go and find him,” said Basia.

And she turned, when a sudden alarm seized her, and a voice precisely as if human called⁠—

“Basia, do not go back!”

That moment the silence was broken by other and ill-omened voices near, and coming, as it were, from under the earth, howling, coughing, whining, groaning, and finally a ghastly squeal, short, interrupted. This was all the more terrible since there was nothing to be seen on the steppe. Cold sweat covered Basia from head to foot; and from her blue lips was wrested the cry⁠—

“What is that? What has happened?”

She divined at once, it is true, that wolves had killed her horse; but she could not understand why she did not see him, since, judging by the sounds, he was not more than five hundred yards behind.

There was no time to fly to the rescue, for the horse must be torn to pieces already; besides, she needed to think of her own life. Basia fired the pistol to frighten the wolves, and moved forward. While going she pondered over what had happened, and after a while it shot through her head that perhaps it was not wolves that had taken her horse, since those voices seemed to come from under the ground. At this thought a cold shiver went along her back; but dwelling on the matter more carefully, she remembered that in her sleep it had seemed to her that she was going down and then going up again.

“It must be so,” said she; “I must have crossed in my sleep some ravine, not very steep. There my horse remained; and there the wolves found him.”

The rest of the night passed without accident. Having eaten hay the morning before, the horse went with great endurance, so that Basia herself was amazed at his strength. That was a Tartar horse⁠—a “wolf hunter” of great stock, and of endurance almost without limit. During the short halts which Basia made, he ate everything without distinction⁠—moss, leaves; he gnawed even the bark of trees, and went on and on. Basia urged him to a gallop on the plains. Then he began to groan somewhat, and to breathe loudly when reined in; he panted, trembled, and dropped his head low from weariness, but did not fall. Her horse, even had he not perished under the teeth of the wolves, could not have endured such a journey. Next morning Basia, after her prayers, began to calculate the time.

“I broke away from Azya on Tuesday in the afternoon,” said she to herself, “I galloped till night; then one night passed on the road; after that a whole day; then again a whole night, and now the third day has begun. A pursuit, even had there been one, must have returned already, and Hreptyoff ought to be near, for I have not spared the horses.”

After a while she added, “It is time; it is time! God pity me!”

At moments a desire seized her to approach the Dniester, for at the bank it would be easier to learn where she was; but when she remembered that fifty of Azya’s men had remained with Pan Gorzenski in Mohiloff, she was afraid. It occurred to her that because she had made such a circuit she might not have passed Mohiloff yet. On the road, in so far as sleep had not closed her eyes, she tried, it is true, to note carefully whether she did not come on a very wide ravine, like that in which Mohiloff was situated; but she did not see such a place. However, the ravine in the interior might be narrow and altogether different from what it was at Mohiloff; might have come to an end or contracted at some furlongs beyond the town; in a word, Basia had not the least idea of where Mohiloff was.

Only she implored God without ceasing that it might be near, for she felt that she could not endure toil, hunger, sleeplessness, and cold much longer. During three days she had lived on seeds alone, and though she had spared them most carefully, still she had eaten the last kernel that morning, and there was nothing in the bag.

Now she could only nourish and warm herself with the hope that Hreptyoff was near. In addition to hope, fever was warming her. Basia felt perfectly that she had a fever; for though the air was growing colder, and it was even freezing, her hands and feet were as hot then as they had been cold at the beginning of the journey; thirst too tormented her greatly.

“If only I do not lose my presence of mind,” said she to herself; “if I reach Hreptyoff, even with my last breath, see Michael, and then let the will of God be done.”

Again she had to pass numerous streams or rivers, but these were either shallow or frozen; on some water was flowing, and there was ice underneath, firm and strong. But she dreaded these crossings most of all because the horse, though courageous, feared them evidently. Going into the water or onto the ice he snorted, put forward his ears, sometimes resisted, but when urged went warily, putting foot before foot slowly, and sniffing with distended nostrils. It was well on in the afternoon when Basia, riding through a thick pine-wood, halted before some river larger than others, and above all much wider. According to her supposition this might be the Ladava or the Kalusik. At sight of this her heart beat with gladness. In every case Hreptyoff must be near; had she passed it even, she might consider herself saved, for the country there was more inhabited and the people less to be feared. The river, as far as her eye could reach, had steep banks; only in one place was there a depression, and the water, dammed by ice, had gone over the bank as if poured into a flat and wide vessel. The banks were frozen thoroughly; in the middle a broad streak of water was flowing, but Basia hoped to find the usual ice under it.

The horse went in, resisting somewhat, as at every crossing, with head inclined, and smelling the snow before him. When she came to running water Basia knelt on the saddle, according to her custom, and held the saddlebow with both hands. The water plashed under his hoofs. The ice was really firm; his hoof struck it as stone. But evidently the shoes had grown blunt on the long road, which was rocky in places, for the horse began to slip; his feet went apart, as if flying from under him. All at once he fell forward, and his nostrils sank in the water; then he rose, fell on his rump, rose again, but being terrified, began to struggle and strike desperately with his feet. Basia grasped the bridle, and with that a dull crack was heard; both hind legs of the horse sank through the ice as far as the haunches.

“Jesus, Jesus!” cried Basia.

The beast, with fore legs still on firm ice, made desperate efforts; but evidently the pieces on which he was resting began to move from under his feet, for he fell deeper, and began to groan hoarsely.

Basia had still time sufficient and presence of mind to seize the mane of the horse and reach the unbroken ice in front of him. She fell and was wet in the water; but rising and feeling firm ground under foot, she knew that she was saved. She wished to save the horse, and bending forward caught the bridle; and going toward the bank she pulled it with all her might.

But the horse sank deeper, could not free even his fore legs to grapple the ice, which was still unmoved. The reins were pulled harder every instant; but he sank more and more. He began to groan with a voice almost human, baring his teeth the while; his eyes looked at Basia with indescribable sadness, as if wishing to say to her: “There is no rescue for me; drop the reins ere I drag thee in!”

There was, in truth, no rescue for him, and Basia had to drop the reins.

When the horse disappeared beneath the ice she went to the bank, sat down under a bush without leaves, and sobbed like a child.

Her energy was thoroughly broken for the moment. And besides that, the bitterness and pain which, after meeting with people, had filled her heart, overflowed it now with still greater force. Everything was against her⁠—uncertain roads, darkness, the elements, men, beasts; the hand of God alone had seemed to watch over her. In that kind, fatherly care she had put all her childlike trust; but now even that hand had failed her. This was a feeling to which Basia had not given such clear expression; but if she had not, she felt it all the more strongly in her heart.

What remained to her? Complaint and tears! And still she had shown all the valor, all the courage, all the endurance which such a poor, weak creature could show. Now, see, her horse is drowned⁠—the last hope of rescue, the last plank of salvation, the only thing living that was with her! Without that horse she felt powerless against the unknown expanse which separated her from Hreptyoff, against the pine-woods, ravines, and steppes; not only defenceless against the pursuit of men and beasts, but she felt far more lonely and deserted than before. She wept till tears failed her. Then came exhaustion, weariness, and a feeling of helplessness so great that it was almost equal to rest. Sighing deeply once and a second time, she said to herself⁠—

“Against the will of God I am powerless. I will die where I am.”

And she closed her eyes, aforetime so bright and joyous, but now hollow and sunken.

In its own way, though her body was becoming more helpless every moment, thought was still throbbing in her head like a frightened bird, and her heart was throbbing also. If no one in the world loved her, she would have less regret to die; but all loved her so much.

And she pictured to herself what would happen when Azya’s treason and his flight would become known: how they would search for her; how they would find her at last⁠—blue, frozen, sleeping the eternal sleep under a bush at the river. And all at once she called out⁠—

“Oh, but poor Michael will be in despair! Ei, ei!”

Then she implored him, saying that it was not her fault.

“Michael,” said she, putting her arms around his neck, mentally, “I did all in my power; but, my dear, it was difficult. The Lord God did not will it.”

And that moment such a heartfelt love for Michael possessed her, such a wish even to die near that dear head, that, summoning every force she had, she rose from the bank and walked on.

At first it was immensely difficult. Her feet had become unaccustomed to walking during the long ride; she felt as if she were going on stilts. Happily she was not cold; she was even warm enough, for the fever had not left her for a moment.

Sinking in the forest, she went forward persistently, remembering to keep the sun on her left hand. It had gone, in fact, to the Moldavian side; for it was the second half of the day⁠—perhaps four o’clock. Basia cared less now for approaching the Dniester, for it seemed to her always that she was beyond Mohiloff.

“If only I were sure of that; if I knew it!” repeated she, raising her blue, and at the same time inflamed, face to the sky. “If some beast or some tree would speak and say, ‘It is a mile to Hreptyoff, two miles,’⁠—I might go there perhaps.”

But the trees were silent; nay more, they seemed to her unfriendly, and obstructed the road with their roots. Basia stumbled frequently against the knots and curls of those roots covered with snow. After a time she was burdened unendurably; she threw the warm mantle from her shoulders and remained in her single coat. Relieving herself in this way, she walked and walked still more hurriedly⁠—now stumbling, now falling at times in deeper snow. Her fur-lined morocco boots without soles, excellent for riding in a sleigh or on horseback, did not protect her feet well against clumps or stones; besides, soaked through repeatedly at crossings, and kept damp by the warmth of her feet now inflamed from fever, these boots were torn easily in the forest.

“I will go barefoot to Hreptyoff or to death!” thought Basia.

And a sad smile lighted her face, for she found comfort in this, that she went so enduringly; and that if she should be frozen on the road, Michael would have nothing to cast at her memory.

Therefore she talked now continually with her husband, and said once⁠—

“Ai, Michael dear! another would not have done so much; for example, Eva.”

Of Eva she had thought more than once in that time of flight; more than once had she prayed for Eva. It was clear to her now, seeing that Azya did not love the girl, that her fate, and the fate of all the other prisoners left in Rashkoff, would be dreadful.

“It is worse for them than for me,” repeated she, from moment to moment, and that thought gave fresh strength to her.

But when one, two, and three hours had passed, this strength decreased at every step. Gradually the sun sank behind the Dniester, and flooding the sky with a ruddy twilight, was quenched; the snow took on a violet reflection. Then that gold and purple abyss of twilight began to grow dark, and became narrower every moment, from a sea covering half the heavens it was changed to a lake, from a lake to a river, from a river to a stream, and finally gleaming as a thread of light stretched on the west, yielded to darkness.

Night came.

An hour passed. The pine-wood became black and mysterious; but, unmoved by any breath, it was as silent as if it had collected itself, and were meditating what to do with that poor, wandering creature. But there was nothing good in that torpor and silence; nay, there was insensibility and callousness.

Basia went on continually, catching the air more quickly with her parched lips; she fell, too, more frequently, because of darkness and her lack of strength.

She had her head turned upward; but not to look for the directing Great Bear, for she had lost altogether the sense of position. She went so as to go; she went because very clear and sweet visions before death had begun to fly over her.

For example, the four sides of the wood begin to run together quickly, to join and form a room⁠—the room at Hreptyoff. Basia is in it; she sees everything clearly. In the chimney a great fire is burning, and on the benches officers are sitting as usual: Pan Zagloba is chaffing Pan Snitko; Pan Motovidlo is sitting in silence looking into the flames, and when something hisses in the fire he says, in his drawling voice, “Oh, soul in purgatory, what needst thou?” Pan Mushalski and Pan Hromyka are playing dice with Michael. Basia comes up to them and says: “Michael, I will sit on the bench and nestle up to you a little, for I am not myself.” Michael puts his arm around her. “What is the matter, kitten? But maybe⁠—” And he inclines to her ear and whispers something. But she answers, “Ai, how I am not myself!” What a bright and peaceful room that is, and how beloved is that Michael! But somehow Basia is not herself, so that she is alarmed.

Basia is not herself to such a degree that the fever has left her suddenly, for the weakness before death has overcome it. The visions disappear; presence of mind returns, and with it memory.

“I am fleeing before Azya,” said Basia to herself; “I am in the forest at night. I cannot go to Hreptyoff. I am dying.”

After the fever, cold seizes her quickly, and goes through her body to the bones. The legs bend under her, and she kneels at last on the snow before a tree.

Not the least cloud darkens her mind now. She is terribly sorry to lose life, but she knows perfectly that she is dying; and wishing to commend her soul to God, she begins to say, in a broken voice⁠—

“In the name of the Father and the Son⁠—”

Suddenly certain strange, sharp, shrill, squeaking voices interrupt further prayer; they are disagreeable and piercing in the stillness of the night.

Basia opens her mouth. The question, “What is that?” is dying on her lips. For a moment she places her trembling fingers to her face, as if not wishing to lend belief, and from her mouth a sudden cry is wrested⁠—

“O Jesus, O Jesus! Those are the well-sweeps; that is Hreptyoff! O Jesus!”

Then that being who was dying a little before springs up, and panting, trembling, with eyes full of tears, and with swelling bosom runs through the forest, falls, rises again, repeating⁠—

“They are watering the horses! That is Hreptyoff! Those are our well-sweeps! Even to the gate, even to the gate! O Jesus! Hreptyoff⁠—Hreptyoff!”

But here the forest grows thin, the snowfields open, and with them the slope, from which a number of glittering eyes are looking on the running Basia.

But those were not wolves’ eyes⁠—ah, those were Hreptyoff windows looking with sweet, bright, and saving light! That is the “fortalice” there on the eminence, just that eastern side turned to the forest!

There was still a distance to go, but Basia did not know when she passed it. The soldiers standing at the gate on the village side did not know her in the darkness; but they admitted her, thinking her a boy sent on some message, and returning to the commandant. She rushed in with her last breath, ran across the square near the wells where the dragoons, returning just before from a reconnoissance, had watered their horses for the night, and stood at the door of the main building. The little knight and Zagloba were sitting just then astride a bench before the fire, and drinking krupnik.27 They were talking of Basia, thinking that she was down there somewhere, managing in Rashkoff. Both were sad, for it was terribly dreary without her, and every day they were discussing about her return.

“God ward off sudden thaws and rains. Should they come. He alone knows when she would return,” said Zagloba, gloomily.

“The winter will hold out yet,” said the little knight; “and in eight or ten days I shall be looking toward Mohiloff for her every hour.”

“I wish she had not gone. There is nothing for me here without her in Hreptyoff.”

“But why did you advise the journey?”

“Don’t invent, Michael! That took place with your head.”

“If only she comes back in health.”

Here the little knight sighed, and added⁠—

“In health, and as soon as possible.”

With that the door squeaked, and a small, pitiful, torn creature, covered with snow, began to pipe plaintively at the threshold:⁠—

“Michael, Michael!”

The little knight sprang up, but he was so astonished at the first moment that he stopped where he stood, as if turned to stone; he opened his arms, began to blink, and stood still.

“Michael!⁠—Azya betrayed⁠—he wanted to carry me away; but I fled, and⁠—save⁠—rescue!”

When she had said this, she tottered and fell as if dead, on the floor; Pan Michael sprang forward, raised her in his arms as if she had been a feather, and cried shrilly⁠—

“Merciful Christ!”

But her poor head hung without life on his shoulder. Thinking that he held only a corpse in his arms, he began to cry with a ghastly voice⁠—

“Basia is dead!⁠—dead! Rescue!”