Once or twice amid the clamor of the market rang the clanking of chains as poor wretches about to be fastened to the church walls by iron collars, or stuck in the pillory, or perhaps even to suffer a worse fate, were marched to the church for a last prayer before the sentence of the law was passed upon them. Life was a precarious thing in many ways in those days, and men and women for very slight offenses were beheaded or banished or thrown into terrible prisons. Now they passed a procession of pilgrims on the way to some shrine, men and women from the villages dressed in their good clothes with the parish priest marching ahead of them and leading the chant which they were singing. The cross bearer was a young man with stalwart shoulders and bright eyes; he had need of his strength, too, for he had sworn to carry the holy image of Our Lord from his native village to Chenstohova, which was many miles distant. This company had already been on the road about ten days. There were boys and girls, too, in the procession, and some had their minds upon serious things, but others were looking for the first time upon the glory of medieval Krakow, and would no doubt in their prayers ask forgiveness for too much attention to worldly things. The cart turned into Grodzka or Castle Street after leaving the market place and went directly toward the Wawel. Near the Wawel Pan Andrew swung the horses to the right and passed through a city gate and into a meadowy lane. In front of a large rambling palace that stood there, he drew up by the side of the road and leaped to the ground not far from a pair of iron gates that marked the entrance. At these gates he was accosted by an armed guard who, with a rather hostile air, blocked the entrance completely with his spear. [Illustration: _The Church of Our Lady Mary and the Cloth Hall. The High Tower of the Church Is the Tower of the Trumpeter._] “What do you want?” he asked sharply. “I seek Pan Andrew Tenczynski.” The guard shouted something, whereat five men in armor came running from a little house near the gate. “Surround him,” said the guard. This was done, much to the astonishment of Pan Andrew. “One of you run to the house and call the captain,” next ordered the guard. “Tell him that a countryman is here demanding to see Pan Andrew Tenczynski.” Pan Charnetski, trying to force his way out of the circle, was pushed back into the center by one of the armed men. At that he raised his voice in anger: “Who are you that dare detain me here? I am Pan Andrew Charnetski, first cousin to the Tenczynskis and proprietor of an estate in the Ukraine. I demand that you confront me with an officer in authority and not treat me like one come here as an enemy.” The men of the guard looked at each other in astonishment. Was it possible that this man did not know the truth—the report of which had already spread over the greater portion of Poland?