LITMIR.BIZ

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the queen's funeral occupied all minds. From all over the country, great crowds of lords, nobles and peasants were going to Krakow. The body of the queen was placed in the cathedral on an elevation, so arranged that the end of the coffin in which the queen's head rested, was much higher than the other end. It was so arranged purposely, to enable the people to see the queen's face. In the cathedral continual prayers were offered; around the catafalque thousands of wax candles were burning. In the glare of the candles and among the flowers, she lay quiet and smiling, looking like a mystic rose. The people saw in her a saint; they brought to her those possessed with devils, the crippled and the sick children. From time to time there was heard in the church, the exclamation of some mother who perceived the color return to the face of her sick child; or the joyful voice of some paralytic man who at once was cured. Then human hearts trembled and the news spread throughout the church, the castle, and the city, and attracted more and more of such human wretchedness as only from a miracle could expect help.

      CHAPTER VII

      During this time Zbyszko was entirely forgotten. Who in the time of such sorrow and misfortune, could remember about the noble lad or about his imprisonment in the tower of the castle? Zbyszko had heard, however, from the guards, about the queen's illness. He had heard the noise of the people around the castle; when he heard their weeping and the tolling of the bells, he threw himself on his knees, and having forgotten about his own lot, began to mourn the death of the worshipped lady. It seemed to him, that with her, something died within him and that after her death, there was nothing worth living for in this world.

      The echo of the funeral – the church bells, the processional songs and the lamenting of the crowd, – was heard for several weeks. During that time, he grew gloomier, lost his appetite, could not sleep and walked in his underground cell like a wild beast in a cage. He suffered in solitude; there were often days during which the jailer did not bring him food nor water. So much was everybody engaged with the queen's funeral, that after her death nobody came to see him: neither the princess, nor Danusia, nor Powala of Taczew, nor the merchant Amylej. Zbyszko thought with bitterness, that as soon as Macko left the city, everybody forgot about him. Sometimes he thought that perhaps the law would forget about him also, and that he would putrefy in the prison till death. Then he prayed for death.

      Finally, when after the queen's funeral one month passed, and the second commenced, he began to doubt if Macko would ever return. Macko had promised to ride quickly and not to spare his horse. Marienburg was not at the other end of the world. One could reach it and return in twelve weeks, especially if one were in haste. "But perhaps he has not hurried!" thought Zbyszko, bitterly; "perhaps he has found some woman whom he will gladly conduct to Bogdaniec, and beget his own progeny while I must wait here centuries for God's mercy."

      Finally he lost all trace of time, and ceased altogether to talk with the jailer. Only by the spider web thickly covering the iron grating of the window, did he know that fall was near at hand. Whole hours he sat on his bed, his elbows resting on his knees, his fingers in his long hair. Half dreaming and stiff, he did not raise his head even when the warden bringing him food, spoke to him. But at last one day the bolts of the door creaked, and a familiar voice called him from the threshold;

      "Zbyszku!"

      "Uncle!" exclaimed Zbyszko, rushing from the bed.

      Macko seized him in his arms, and began to kiss his fair head. Grief, bitterness and loneliness had so filled the heart of the youth, that he began to cry on his uncle's breast like a little child.

      "I thought you would never come back," said he, sobbing.

      "That came near being true," answered Macko.

      Now Zbyszko raised his head and having looked at him, exclaimed:

      "What was the matter with you?"

      He looked with amazement at the emaciated and pallid face of the old warrior, at his bent figure and his gray hair.

      "What was the matter with you?" he repeated.

      Macko sat on the bed and for a while breathed heavily.

      "What was the matter?" said he, finally.

      "Hardly had I passed the frontier, before the Germans whom I met in the forest, wounded me with a crossbow. Raubritters! You know! I cannot breathe! God sent me help, otherwise you would not see me here."

      "Who rescued you?"

      "Jurand of Spychow," answered Macko.

      There was a moment of silence.

      "They attacked me; but half a day later he attacked them and hardly half of them escaped. He took me with him to the grodek and then to Spychow.

      I fought with death for three weeks. God did not let me die and although I am not well yet, I have returned."

      "Then you have not been in Malborg?"

      "On what would I ride? They robbed me of everything and they took the letter with the other things. I returned to ask Princess Ziemowitowa for another; but I have not met her yet, and whether I will see her or not, I do not know. I must prepare for the other world!"

      Having said this, he spit on the palm of his hand and stretching it toward Zbyszko, showed him blood on it, saying:

      "Do you see?"

      After a while he added:

      "It must be God's will."

      They were both silent for a time under the burden of their gloomy thoughts; then Zbyszko said:

      "Then you spit blood continually?"

      "How can I help it; there is a spear head half a span long between my ribs. You would spit also! I was a little better before I left Jurand of Spychow; but now I am very tired, because the way was long and I hastened."

      "He; I why did you hasten?"

      "Because I wished to see Princess Alexandra and get another letter from her. Jurand of Spychow said 'Go and bring the letter to Spychow. I have a few Germans imprisoned here. I will free one of them if he promise upon his knightly word to carry the letter to the gland master.' For vengeance for his wife's death, he always keeps several German captives and listens joyfully when they moan and their chains rattle. He is a man full of hatred. Understand?"

      "I understand. But I wonder that you did not recover the lost letter, if Jurand captured those who attacked you."

      "He did not capture all of them. Five or six escaped. Such is our lot!"

      "How did they attack you? From ambush?"

      "From behind such thick bushes that one could see nothing. I was riding without armor, because the merchants told me that the country was safe, and it was warm."

      "Who was at the head of the robbers? A Krzyzak?"

      "Not a friar, but a German. Chelminczyk of Lentz, famous for his robberies on the highway."

      "What became of him?"

      "Jurand chained him. But he has in his dungeons two noblemen, Mazurs, whom he wishes to exchange for himself."

      There was a moment of silence.

      "Dear Jesus," Zbyszko said, finally; "Lichtenstein is alive, and also that robber from Lentz; but we must perish without vengeance. They will behead me and you will not be able to live through the winter."

      "Bah! I will not live even until winter. If I could only help you in some way to escape."

      "Have you seen anybody here?"

      "I went to see the castellan of Krakow. When I learned that Lichtenstein had departed, I thought perhaps the castellan would be less severe."

      "Then Lichtenstein went away?"

      "Immediately after the queen's death, he went to Marienburg. I went to see the castellan; but he answered me thus: 'They will execute your nephew, not to please Lichtenstein, but because that is his sentence. It will make no difference whether Lichtenstein be here or not. Even if he die, nothing will be changed; the law is according to justice and not like a jacket, which you can turn inside out. The king can show clemency; but no one else.'"

      "And where is the king?"

      "After

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