In an access of fury he grasped at the knife hanging from his belt, and for a moment pressed it convulsively in his hand. The edge was already gleaming in Zagloba’s eyes, when the chief restrained himself, thrust the knife back into the scabbard, and cried: “Boys!”
Six Zaporojians came into the room.
“Take that Polish carrion, throw it into the stable, and guard it as the eye in your head!”
The Cossacks took Zagloba,--two by his hands and feet, one behind by the hair,--and carrying him out of the house bore him through the yard, and threw him on a dung-heap in the stable standing at one side. Then they closed the door. Complete darkness surrounded the prisoner, but in the cracks between the wall-planks and through holes in the thatch the dim light of night penetrated here and there. Aft
