At  thought  of  this,  great  sorrow  seized  Zbyshko.  Till  the
time  of  his  imprisonment  in  Cracow  he  had  not  understood
how  he  loved  that  ''uncle,"  who  in  life  had  been  to  him
father  and  mother.  But  now  he  knew  well,  and  also  he  felt
that  after  the  death  of  that  "uncle  "he  would  be  terribly
alone  in  the  world  —  without  blood  relations ;  save  only  the
abbot  who  had  Bogdanets  in  pledge,  he  would  be  without
friends,  without  aid.  At  the  same  time  it  occurred  to  him
that  if  Matsko  died  his  death  would  come  through  Germans,
through  whom  he  himself  had  lacked  little  of  losing  his  life,
through  whom  all  his  family  had  perished,  and  Danusia's
mother,  and  many,  many  blameless  people  whom  he  had
known,  or  of  whom  he  had  heard  from  acquaintances ;  and
at  last  wonder  seized  hold  of  him.  "Is  there,"  said  he  to
himself,  "  in  this  whole  kingdom  a  man  who  has  not  suffered
injustice  from  Germans,  and  who  is  not  thirsting  for  ven-
geance?" Here  he  remembered  those  with  whom  he  had
fought  at  Vilno,  and  he  thought :  ' '  Even  Tartars  are  surely
not  more  cruel  in  war  than  the  Germans,  and  of  a  certainty
there  is  not  another  such  nation  on  earth."

The  dawn  interrupted  his  meditation.  The  day  rose  clear,
but  cool.  Matsko  was  evidently  better,  for  he  breathed
evenly  and  quietly.  He  woke  only  when  the  sun  had  warmed
the  world  well ;  he  opened  his  eyes  and  said,  —

"  I  feel  better.     Where  are  we?  "

"We  are  entering  Olkush.  You  know  —  the  place  where
they  dig  silver,  and  pay  taxes  to  the  treasury."

"Oh,  to  have  what  there  is  in  the  ground!  Then  we
might  build  up  Bogdanets."

"  It  is  evident  tliat  you  are  better,"  said  Zbyshko,  smiling.
