"What can one man do against thousands? And who can save a people who sharpen their enemies' swords with their own hands? The chains of slavery were forged by our forefathers, and now their children are bound in them. Accursed be those who snatched our hearts out of our breasts, and put in their place a piece of dead meat! And accursed be those who taught us to be patient, to obey!"
"Have you come here to curse us?"
"No. I was drawn to my fatherland by a heart that I loved. I came to save her."
The old man bent his head in his son's arms.
"I bless you, my son!" said he and closed his eyes.
These were his last words.
Long did the young man hold his father's lifeless form in his embrace, and long did his tears fall upon that white but blood-stained head. These were the second tears he had shed since he had trodden the soil of his long-beloved, never-forgotten fatherland.
At last he arose, and reverently lifting the corpse, laid it, just as it was, in a hollow place, and dug up the earth with his dagger and covered it. Then he placed large stones on the grave and said:—
"Rest here, good, generous man! And let this grave be near that place of sacrifice where our country's great sons were butchered. And may this human slaughter-house be a perpetual warning to future generations, reminding them of the wretched past, and bidding them to base their present upon more solid foundations. Then, perhaps, the blood of the fathers may open the road of salvation to the children."
V.
With one last mournful glance at his father's obscure grave, the young man set out again on his journey, absorbed in black, torturing meditations.
Having lost father, mother, brother and sisters, he had a vague fear of losing his beloved "one" also.
