“Another storm to-morrow, but that will be the last,” repeated the priests and the soldiers. “Let him to whom God will send death give thanks that the Lord lets him be present at Mass, and thus opens more surely heaven’s gates, for whoso dies for the faith on the day of Christ’s birth must be received into glory.” They wished one another success, long years, or a heavenly crown; and so relief dropped into every heart, as if suffering were over already. But there stood one empty chair near the prior; before it a plate on which was a package of white wafers bound with a blue ribbon. When all had sat down, no one occupied that place. Zamoyski said,— “I see, revered father, that according to ancient custom there are places for men outside the cloister.” “Not for men outside,” said Father Agustine, “but as a remembrance of that young man whom we loved as a son, and whose soul is looking with pleasure upon us because we keep him in eternal memory.” “As God lives,” replied Zamoyski, “he is happier now than we. We owe him due thanks.” Kordetski had tears in his eyes, and Charnyetski said,— “They write of smaller men in the chronicles. If God gives me life, and any one asks me hereafter, who was there among us the equal of ancient heroes, I shall say Babinich.” “Babinich was not his name,” said Kordetski. “How not Babinich?” “I long knew his real name under the seal of confession; but when going out against that cannon, he said to me: ‘If I perish, let men know who I am, so that honorable repute may rest with my name, and destroy my former misdeeds.’ He went, he perished; now I can tell you that he was Kmita!” “That renowned Lithuanian Kmita?” cried Charnyetski, seizing his forelock. “The same. How the grace of God changes hearts!” “For God’s sake. Now I understand why he undertook that work; now I understand where he got that daring, that boldness, in which he surpassed all men. Kmita, Kmita, that terrible Kmita whom Lithuania celebrates.” “Henceforth not only Lithuania, but the whole Commonwealth will glorify him in a different manner.” “He was the first to warn us against Count Veyhard.” “Through his advice we closed the gates in good season, and made preparations.” “He killed the first Swede with a shot from a bow.” “And how many of their cannon did he spoil! Who brought down De Fossis?” “And that siege gun! If we are not terrified at the storm of to-morrow, who is the cause?” “Let each remember him with honor, and celebrate his name wherever possible, so that justice be done,” said Kordetski; “and now may God give him eternal rest.” “And may everlasting light shine on him,” answered one chorus of voices. But Pan Charnyetski was unable for a long time to calm himself, and his thoughts were continually turning to Kmita.