Was all at an end, then? Was that rising and triumphing Commonwealth naught but an empty illusion? So much power, so many troops, so many great men and famous warriors; the hetmans, the king, Charnyetski with his invincible division, the marshal of the kingdom, other lords with their attendants,—had all perished, had all rolled away like smoke? And are there no other defenders of this hapless country, save detached parties of insurgents who certainly at news of the disaster will pass away like a fog?
Kmita tore the hair from his head and wrung his hands; he seized the wet earth, pressed palms-full of it to his burning head.
“I shall fall too,” said he; “but first this land will swim in blood.”
And he began to fight like a man in despair. He did not hide longer, he did not attack in the
