the air and struck the group of foes. The water splashed up to the clouds, the pile of rocks crashed and heart-rending screams echoed to the top of the bank. In a few moments the surface of the lake was smooth and calm again and there was not a vestige left of Burunda’s company.
The Tukholian townspeople stood upon the bank watching breathlessly. Old Zakhar, up till then so hale and strong, now trembled like a little child, drained by the tax of energy, and covering his face with his hands, wept bitterly. At his feet lay the unconscious form of Peace-Renown.
Suddenly joyous shouts echoed from below. The youths who rode the waves on their rafts near the place where Maxim had disappeared with Burunda, suddenly caught sight of him as he floated up from beneath the waters, sound and whole, and greeted him. Their elation rapidly spread itself to the entire community. Even those who had lost their own sons, brothers and husbands, rejoiced in Maxim’s safety, as if with his return all their dear ones lost in battle also had returned.
“Maxim is alive! Maxim is alive! Hurray for Maxim!” The echoes thundered and reverberated far into the forests and along the peaks of the mountain masses. “Father Zakhar! Your son is alive! Your son is returning to you!”
Quivering with suppressed emotion, eyes filmed with tears, Zakhar raised himself.
“Where is he? Where is my son?” his voice quavered.
Soaking wet, his face shining with happiness, Maxim jumped off the raft unto the bank and clambered up to his father’s feet.
“Father!”
“My boy! Maxim!”
Neither could say more. Zakhar swayed a moment and fell into his son’s strong young embrace.
“Father, what ails you?” cried Maxim, noting the deathly
211
