Ovsivuyu smacked his tongue. “There is no denying it; she is a golden Pole.”
“But I am sorry for her,” said a young Cossack. “When we were putting her in the swing she clasped her white hands and begged, saying, ‘Kill me; do not ruin me, unfortunate one!’”
“No harm will come to her.”
Further conversation was interrupted by the approach of Horpyna.
“Hei! young men,” said the witch, “this is Tartar Valley, but don’t fear; it is terrible here only one night in the year. Right after it is the Devil’s Glen, and then my place.”
In fact, the howling of dogs was soon heard. The party entered the mouth of the glen, running at right angles to the river, and so narrow that four horses could hardly enter it abreast. At the bottom of this chasm flowed a rivulet, changing color in the light of the
