Then he turned slowly and mounted his horse. His Cos-
sacks were waiting at the foot of the height.

"Forward! forward! Good health to you, my soldier
friend!" said he to the lieutenant. "The times are such at
present that brother trusts not brother. This is why you
know not whom you have saved, for I have not given you
my name."

"You are not Abdank, then?"

"That is my escutcheon."

"And your name?"

"Bogdan Zenovi Hmelnitski."

When he had said this, he rode down from the height,
and his Cossacks moved after him. Soon they were hidden
in the mist and the night. When they had gone about
half a furlong, the wind bore back from them the words of
the Cossack song,--

"O God, lead us forth, poor captives,
From heavy bonds,
From infidel faith,
To the bright dawn,
To quiet waters,
To a gladsome land,
To a Christian world.
Hear, O God, our prayers,--
The prayers of the hapless,
The prayers of poor captives."

The voices grew fainter by degrees, and then were melted
in the wind sounding through the reeds.