not divide us."

"Deceive not yourself and me, noble sir," she said, gently shaking her
beautiful head; "I know, and to my great sorrow I know but too well,
that it is impossible for you to love me. I know what your duty is,
and your faith. Your father calls you, your comrades, your country,
and we are your enemies."

"And what are my father, my comrades, my country to me?" said Andrii,
with a quick movement of his head, and straightening up his figure
like a poplar beside the river. "Be that as it may, I have no one, no
one!" he repeated, with that movement of the hand with which the
Cossack expresses his determination to do some unheard-of deed,
impossible to any other man. "Who says that the Ukraine is my country?
Who gave it to me for my country? Our country is the one our soul
longs for, the one which is dearest of all to us. My country is--you!
That is my native land, and I bear that country in my heart. I will
bear it there all my life, and I will see whether any of the Cossacks
can tear it thence. And I will give everything, barter everything, I
will destroy myself, for that country!"

Astounded, she gazed in his eyes for a space, like a beautiful statue,
and then suddenly burst out sobbing; and with the wonderful feminine
impetuosity which only grand-souled, uncalculating women, created for
fine impulses of the heart, are capable of, threw herself upon his
neck, encircling it with her wondrous snowy arms, and wept. At that
moment indistinct shouts rang through the street, accompanied by the
sound of trumpets and kettledrums; but he heard them not. He was only
conscious of the beauteous mouth bathing him with its warm, sweet
breath, of the tears streaming down his face, and of her long, unbound