whole weeks. During this time he grew gloomy, he lost desire for food, for sleep, and walked up and down in his dungeon like a wild beast in a cage. Loneliness weighed on him, for there were days when even the prison guard did not bring him fresh food and water, so far were all people occupied by the funeral of the queen. From the time of her death no one had visited him, neither the princess nor Danusia, nor Povala, they who a little while before showed him so much good will, nor Matsko's acquaintance, the merchant Amyley. Zbyshko thought with bitterness that were Matsko to die all would forget him. At moments it came to his head that perhaps justice too would forget him, and that he would rot to death in that prison; he prayed then to die.
At last, when a month had passed after the queen's funeral and a second month had begun, he fell to despairing of his uncle's return; for Matsko had promised to come quickly and not spare his horse. Malborg was not at the end of the earth. It was possible to go and return in twelve weeks, especially if one were in a hurry. "But mayhap he is not in a hurry," thought Zbyshko with grief. "Mayhap he has found a wife on the road for himself, and will take her with gladness to Bogdanets, and wait for posterity himself, while I shall stay here forever, expecting God's mercy."
At last he lost reckoning of time, he ceased to speak with the guard, and only from the cobwebs which covered abundantly the iron grating in the window did he note that autumn was in the world. He sat for whole hours on the bed, with his elbows on his knees and his fingers in his hair, which reached now far below his shoulders, and half in sleep, half in torpor, he did not even raise his head when the guard, bringing food, spoke to him. But on a certain day the hinges squeaked, and a known voice called from the threshold,—
"Zbyshko!"
"Uncle dear!" cried Zbyshko, springing from his plank bed.
Matsko seized him by the shoulders, then embraced his bright head with his hands, and began to kiss it. Grief, bitterness, and longing, so rose in the heart of the young man that he cried on his uncle's breast like a little child.
"I thought that you would never return," said he, sobbing.
"Well, I came near that," answered Matsko.
Only then did Zbyshko raise his head and looking at him cry,—
