"Now, my kids," cried the old man suddenly to his daughters, "hurry to the village, wake up the nobles, let them take their sabres! Kmita has carried off the lady--is it possible--God forgive him, the murderer, the ruffian! Is it possible?" "Let us go to rouse them," said Volodyovski; "that will be quicker! Come; the horses are ready, I hear them." In a moment they mounted, as did also the two attendants, Ogarek and Syruts. All pushed on their way between the cottages of the village, striking the doors and windows, and crying with sky-piercing voices: "To your sabres, to your sabres! The lady of Vodokty is carried away! Kmita is in the neighborhood!" Hearing these cries, this or that man rushed forth from his cottage, looked to see what was happening, and when he had learned what the matter was, fell to shouting himself, "Kmita is in the neighborhood; the lady is carried away!" And shouting in this fashion, he rushed headlong to the out-buildings to saddle his horse, or to his cottage to feel in the dark for his sabre on the wall. Every moment more voices cried, "Kmita is in the neighborhood!" There was a stir in the village, lights began to shine, the cry of women was heard, the barking of dogs. At last the nobles came out on the road,--some mounted, some on foot. Above the multitude of heads glittered in the night sabres, pikes, darts, and even iron forks. Volodyovski surveyed the company, sent some of them immediately in different directions, and moved forward himself with the rest. The mounted men rode in front, those on foot followed, and they marched toward Volmontovichi to join the Butryms. The hour was ten in the evening, and the night clear, though the moon had not risen. Those of the nobles whom the grand hetman had sent recently from the war dropped into ranks at once; the others, namely the infantry, advanced with less regularity, making a clatter with their weapons, talking and yawning aloud, at times cursing that devil of a Kmita who had robbed them of pleasant rest. In this fashion they reached Volmontovichi, at the edge of which an armed band pushed out to meet them. "Halt! who goes?" called voices from that band. "The Gashtovts!" "We are the Butryms. The Domasheviches have come already." "Who is leading you?" asked Volodyovski. "Yuzva the Footless at the service of the colonel." "Have you news?" "He took her to Lyubich. They went through the swamp to avoid Volmontovichi." "To Lyubich?" asked Volodyovski, in wonder. "Can he think of defending himself there? Lyubich is not a fortress, is it?" "It seems he trusts in his strength. There are two hundred with him. No doubt he wants to take the property from Lyubich; they have wagons and a band of led horses. It must be that he did not know of our return from the army, for he acts very boldly." "That is good for us!" said Volodyovski. "He will not escape this time. How many guns have you?" "We, the Butryms, have thirty; the Domasheviches twice as many."