The Day of Wrath

During this brilliant and particularly lucid harangue, the bolder masses of the mob had pushed right forward, and it seemed highly probable that within the next few moments the arguments of the great popular orator would be emphasized by fist-law. Vértessy, on the other hand, quite apart from general feelings of humanity and patriotism, had still stronger reason for avoiding tumult and bloodshed. At that very moment his sick wife lay at the threshold of death. A mere volley, a single hour of street-fighting, might perhaps be the death of her.

In this agonising situation a horseman was seen approaching from the opposite side of the road. Only with the utmost difficulty could he force his way through the densely packed mob. Indeed, they would not have stirred a stump had he not kept on waving in his hand a piece of paper, and shouting incessantly that this was a proclamation addressed to the people, and he wanted to speak with their leader.

"Who is the worthy leader of these patriots?" he exclaimed.

Vértessy recognised in the horseman that mysterious Pole whom the condemned man could not recollect, and by this time he was a trifle suspicious of the fellow himself. After all, he began to think, there might be some coherency in the words of the prisoner, though only an hour ago he had looked upon them as the mere ravings of a lunatic.

"Where is the leader of the people?" cried Kamienszka, urging on the sweating horse towards the nearest open space.

Master Matthias proudly pointed to the warm swelling bosom which lay beneath his leather apron, by way of indicating that he was the man.

With an air of pathetic dignity Kamienszka handed to the worthy patriot the proclamation of Numa Pompilius, in which that worthy confided to the tailors, cobblers, and bakers of the city the honourable task of making, stitching, and baking some thousands of boots, hose, and rolls for headquarters to be delivered immediately.

"What are you doing?" cried the General in French. "At the very first movement I shall scatter these men."

"I am pouring oil upon the waters," replied the young horseman in the same language. "Within an hour every man of them will go home."

Master Matthias seized the document with both hands, pressed his musket betwixt his knees, and read the proclamation attentively from beginning to end.

The impression it made upon him could be imagined from the conduct of his moustache, which gradually lost its martial fierceness, and at last hung meekly down.

"Six thousand pairs of boots—whew!"

Meantime, a skinny fellow-citizen, buttoned up to the chin, kept on stretching his scraggy neck a monstrous distance across the heads of three rows of other burghers standing in front of him, with his eyes glued all the time upon the distant document in Master Matthias' hands. This was Master Csihos, known by the token over his shop as a member of the honourable guild of tailors.

"There it is!—read it for yourself!" cried Master Matthias.

The long arm stretched all the way across three rows of fellow-citizens standing in front of it, and a little group of tailors having put their heads together around the master-tailor, he read out the proclamation in a loud voice.

"Three thousand pairs of trousers!"

The head of the guild of bakers had not heard all that had been said, but the words "bread" and "rolls" had tickled his ears uncomfortably.

The fatal proclamation had in a few moments made the round of the assembly, gradually disappearing among the back rows of the mob. And, wherever it passed, it left behind it long faces and gaping, speechless mouths; the tumult subsided into a low murmur and an uneasy whispering. Master Matthias, Master Csihos, and the chief of the Guild of Bakers held counsel together cheek by jowl. Those in the rear began to edge away along the wall as if it was no concern of theirs.

At last Master Matthias leaned his musket against the back of a friend, took off his cap, smoothed out his moustache, and approached the General with a very dubious expression of countenance, at the same time violently scratching the back of his neck.

"Your pardon, my Lord General!" cried he, "possibly your honour did not quite understand me. Although I never said that things were this or that; neither did I mean the other thing, whether more or less. Nevertheless, and be this as it may, and without prejudice, I am well aware, as also are all my friends, that it is not for us to sit in judgment on the county tribunals or on you, my Lord General—very much, the other way in fact; and if impudent disturbers of the public peace are carrying on their games amongst us, such are to be regarded as the dregs of humanity, and we on the contrary see ourselves obliged to turn to the worshipful county magistrates and to your honour that ye may deign to have these evil-minded rioters who approach our peaceful towns with firearms and pitchforks kept far away therefrom, whereunto we also and the trainbands of this town volunteer our services, giving it to be and understood that, at my Lord General's command, we shall be found ready to pour out our life-blood in defence of our country, our town, our county, and our prince. To the gallows say I, with all who demand of us six thousand pairs of boots! Your poor humble servant!"

Vértessy could not forbear from quietly smiling at this discreet coat-turning rhetoric. With his drawn sword he motioned to his soldiers to lower their weapons, and return to the barracks, simply leaving the usual sentries at their posts.

The noisy assembly then gave one long cheer for the General, and after threatening every sort of distant object with their sticks and clenched fists, tumultously dispersed.

Kamienszka, after the odd dispersal of the rioters, trotted alongside the General into the courtyard of the barracks, where they both dismounted and hastened into the waiting room. Each of them had something urgent to say to the other which could not be expressed in public.

"Sir," the General hastened to say, he was determined to have the first word—"whoever you are, you have rendered me a very important service which I hope to be able to repay."

"I come from the midst of danger, General," replied the heroic lady very quickly, like one anxious to economize his moments and count his words; "a dangerous rebellion has broken out in the midst of the county, and by mere accident I have got the leading strings of it in my hands. For a moment, however, I ran the risk of being strung up myself. The visitation of this strange epidemic has afforded a band of desperate fanatics with the opportunity of accomplishing a long-cherished design. Here is the proclamation which in a few days will fly over the whole realm."

The General read through the document handed to him with the utmost astonishment.

"Love of loot, revenge, popular stupidity, will be powerful allies in such a frantic enterprise, which, if it but gain the upper hand, will, in a few weeks, change the whole appearance of the map of Europe. At present the flame is but a tiny one. It has only burst forth in a few villages. To-night they are going to attack the Castle of Hétfalu. That will be the beginning of it."

The General's face quivered. So the words of the condemned man had been true!

"There they will murder both master and servants. Murdered they must be in order that the participators in the outbreak may find retreat impossible. This will be the beginning of a desperate struggle."

The General rang a bell. He whispered a few words in the ear of the adjutant who answered the summons, and then sat down and began writing very rapidly, at the same time beckoning to Kamienszka to go on.

"General, at present the conflagration may be stamped out by a single effort. A bold hand, which does not shrink from a bad burn, may cover up the mouth of the volcano if instant action be taken. But not a day, not an hour, not a moment, should be lost. The thing must be done at once. In a day, an hour, a moment, things might happen which could never be made good again."

A rattle of chains was audible at the door, two sentries were bringing in the prisoner, behind them came the provost-martial.

The General, who never ceased writing, thus addressed him:

"Young man! have those chains taken off your hands, ask my adjutant for a sword, and gird it on!"

Young Hétfalusy opened his eyes wide with astonishment. He allowed them to take the chains off his hands, and gird a sword to his side, and did not at once observe that a couple of yards away from him stood a strange youth, who found it very hard not to burst into tears, and fall upon his neck at the sight of him, so miserable did he look.

The General had at last finished his correspondence, and gave his whole attention to young Hétfalusy.

"Now listen patiently to all that I am going to say. Take these letters, choose the best horse from my stables, and hasten to the leaders of the military cordons one after the other. Each one of them will place at the disposal of the captain accompanying you one half of his effective strength. As soon as you have gathered together half a battalion, hasten with them to Hétfalu, as to the rest that will be provided for by written instructions. Your own heart will tell you what you ought to do. You are going to rescue and defend your family. There the hand of God will be over you. If it please Him to carry your sentence into execution His will be done, if you return alive the past shall be forgotten."

The youth did not know what to answer, his voice died away in his throat. All he could do was to sink down in silence by the General's side, press his hand to his lips, and shed tears.

"Get up, get up, and be off! You have not to thank me for this. You must thank God and this worthy gentleman who has dared so much for your sake."

Only then did the youth cast a glance upon Kamienszka, and it seemed to him as if he dimly saw, conjured up before him, through the misty veil of his tears, the vision of a form from other days.

The Polish lady hastened up to him, pressed his hand, and whispered in his ear:

"Not a word now! We shall have plenty of time presently."

"Then you do know each other?" said Vértessy. "What could the youth be dreaming of to deny his friend a little while ago?"

And with that he gave the heroine's hand a vigorous grip, for he had every reason to still call her a man.

"Sir," said he, "I fancy I am not making you a bad offer if I ask you to come and have a hasty breakfast with me and your young friend, and then choose one of my horses and buckle on one of my swords. You are not the man I take you for if you do not feel inclined to follow your comrade and share his danger."

Hétfalusy, with an expression of alarm, would have interrupted him; but the girl thrust him aside, and her flashing eyes seemed to impose silence upon him.

"Thank you, General," she manfully replied. "I anticipated that offer, and I accept it. As for our breakfast we can have that in our saddles. We have no time to stay."

"You are right," said Vértessy, squeezing the soft downy hand whose steel-like muscles did not betray the woman, "you must hasten. This mad rebellion must be overthrown as rapidly as it has arisen. Should the movement extend to other parts of the county you will not find me unprepared."

Meanwhile the steeds were led out below the gate. The attendant captain rushed out, half dressed, bringing a sword with him for Kamienszka, which she hastily buckled on like a man.

The General escorted them down to the horses, and the three cavaliers swung themselves into their saddles. Vértessy pressed once more the heroine's hand, and said to her with soldierly frankness:

"Mr. Kamienszki, I have a great regard for you!"

"Not Kamienszki but Kamienszka!" murmured the lady softly, and with that she spurred her horse and galloped after her comrades.

And now for the first time a light dawned in Vértessy's mind, and he understood it all.

"A marvellous woman!" he muttered, gazing after her till the distance hid her from his eyes.

The streets were quite quiet, nobody was about, the General's own heart was afflicted by the stillness. A beneficent calm, so often the reaction from extreme excitement, came over him.

And now he had time to hasten back to the peaceful house opposite.

His heart beat so violently with joyful anticipation, the pulses of his hands and temples throbbed so tumultuously as he strode through the quiet rooms.

In the ante-chamber he encountered the doctor, who advanced towards him with a smile and stretched out his hand.

"You have a joyful house now," said he.

"What do you mean?" exclaimed Vértessy, stammering with delight; he knew very well, all the time, what the doctor meant.

"A wee, wee cherub has arrived," whispered the doctor—"and 'tis a boy cherub too," he added with a still broader smile.

The next moment Vértessy was kneeling down before his wife, and pressing her hands hundreds and hundreds of times to his burning lips.

And the wife, with a sweet and blissful smile, looked down upon her husband like one of those whom the prayers of their beloved have called back from the world beyond the grave.

"With God there is mercy!" was all that she could say.

CHAPTER XVI.

The wind blew gloomy-looking clouds before it across the sky, clouds which hastened away from that district; which jostled one another as they scudded along, some high, some low, and kept on changing their shapes as if they feared lest something might catch them there. Some of them had blood-red linings from the flames of distant conflagrations, and these flew rapidly along, trying to force their way through in advance of the rest; but these others sped along still faster, lest they, too, should be enkindled.

And in the darkness disorderly masses of men might have been dimly seen assembling in the roads and stealthily proceeding towards the castle. In the tap-room of the csárda evil counsellors are discussing the destruction of all the dwellers in the castle.

Three separate opinions are fighting for the supremacy. Numa Pompilius is in favour of an open, heroic attack, as became the epigoni of the valiant Sarmatians; with battering-rams, ballistas, and other classical instruments of warfare, he would have fought breast to breast, eye to eye with the foe.

Ivan, on the other hand, is more practical. He knows his own people better, and anticipates much greater success from an insidious surprise in which the warriors shall stealthily crawl over walls and through windows upon the unguarded and unsuspecting garrison, and massacre them in their dreams.

The wife of the headsman sits on the table opposite the two commanders-in-chief with a mocking smile upon her lips, and her huge muscular arms crossed over her bosom. From time to time she utters a scornful laugh and grunts disapprovingly.

"Do what you like," she said at last, "neither of you knows anything about it. The buffalo-catcher would proceed cautiously and the cripple would run like a 'bull' at the gate."

"And what would you do, I should like to know," snarled Ivan.

"I know something, and I know how to keep it to myself. When you two have made a mess of it, then I shall come forward."

The commanders began to be jealous of her influence. The first success always wins the heart of the mob, they must make sure of that anyhow.

"Call in the Leather-bell," cried Ivan to the doorkeepers.

The old fellow was shoved in.

"The castle watch-dogs know you, don't they?" he was asked.

"Know me? of course they do," replied the worthy man. "Why, I brought up Tiszá and Farkas myself. I give them bread every day. Why, they sniff my pockets even now whenever I go along there."

"They know you still better, you knacker you, I'll be bound," said Dame Zudár to Ivan derisively.

Ivan caught up a knife from the table and would have stuck the woman with it had not Thomas Bodza stayed his hand. He did not like these squabbles at all.

"This is not the time for wrangling," said he.

Only very reluctantly did Ivan allow himself to be pacified and induced to continue the conversation.

"Here in this handkerchief are some pieces of meat, do you think you can get the dogs to take them with soft words?"

"Why not? I have only to call them by name, and they will come to the doors of their kennels and eat it out of my very hands."

"Then look sharp and set about it."

The Leather-bell was such a good fellow that he was never able to resist the slightest command. He accepted the commission, although he knew very well that the dogs would be poisoned. He consoled himself with the reflection, however, that nobody had told him so beforehand.

"But look here, gentlemen, you don't want to do his honour, the squire, any harm?" he inquired of Ivan, with a foolishly smiling face.

"No, old 'un, no."

"Nor the young squire either?"

"No, nor him either, not for all the world."

"Nor the heyduke? He is my godson, you know."

"No, nor him either, old 'un, but do look sharp."

"You only want to find out whether there is poison in the castle or not, don't you?"

"Yes, yes. Devil take the fellow! Be off, or I'll knock some of your teeth down your throat."

And the poor Leather-bell scuttled off.

"And now bring Mekipiros hither!"

They dragged the poor half-idiotic creature into the room. His thick, bristly hair hung right over his eyes. He was grinning and evidently in a good humour. But he could speak no longer, of course, since he had lost his tongue; whatever they said to him he could only reply: "Hamamama!"

This with him was the expression of happiness and contentment, both question and answer.

"Mekipiros! come hither and drink," cried Ivan, holding to his mouth a straw-covered pitcher full of spirit, which he to whom it was offered did not remove from his lips till it was quite empty. Then he returned it to Ivan with a joyful "Hamamama!"

"Look now, blockhead! You can climb up a rope anywhere, can't you?"

"Hamamamama!"

"All right, I'm not deaf! You can scale the roof of a house by means of a rope then?"

The hideous monster rubbed his hands with joy at the proposal.

"And then you will drag me up after you by means of the same rope, do you understand?"

The dwarfish abortion rushed with a howl of joy at Ivan, caught the fellow round the knee, raised him high in the air, and leapt up and down with him, by way of showing that he was as light as a bag of feathers, till Ivan, by dint of shouting and pummelling, contrived to free himself from the creature's grasp.

"The fellow has the strength of an ox," said he to Thomas Bodza, seizing the thick-set creature by the hair, and lugging him hither and thither, which appeared to infinitely delight the speechless monster. Whenever he succeeded in getting hold of one of Ivan's hands he covered it with kisses, whereupon the other, with an air of disgust, kept rubbing them on the tails of his coat, as if he could not wipe them sufficiently.

"He will do very well as food for their guns," whispered Ivan. "If the people in the castle hear a noise, and guess our subterfuge, they will shoot Mekipiros, for we will send him on in front. Why, even with a couple of bullets in his body the fellow will be able to scramble up the wall. He's like a toad."

Meanwhile the Leather-bell returned and announced that the dogs had gobbled up all the meat thrown to them.

"Oh, they made no bones about it," cried he.

"Then we can go," said Ivan, thrusting a rusty military pistol into his breast-pocket.

Dame Zudár hastened towards her matted waggon and leaped upon the box-seat. For a moment a long, sharp knife flashed betwixt her hands, and she peered at it closely to make sure that its edge was all right, immediately afterwards it vanished again nobody knew whither. Then she laid hold of her whip and lashed up the horses.

The road they followed passed by the hut of the Death-Bird. The old witch was huddled up in her doorway, and began counting those who passed, marking them off one by one, with her crutch: "One, two, three—One, two, three."

She never went beyond three, therefore every third was a marked man.

When her daughter passed by with the rector and Ivan she laughed aloud.

"Ha, ha, ha! A splendid company truly! A schoolmaster, a headsman's apprentice, and a nice young bride! Whither are you going such a dark night? A splendidly dark night! Just the night for thieves and murderers; just the night for those intent on rapine and burning! On you go! On you go! Worry the great gentry, root out your landlords, and after that fall yourselves into the hands of the headsman! The less people there are in the world the nicer it will be."

None of the rioters durst molest her though she stood right in their way, and spoke so that everyone could hear her. They all took care to give her a wide berth.

Thomas Bodza distributed his people along the road, and occupied every exit from the castle. One detachment he hid behind a haystack, with another he seized the beehives, and with a third the distillery. The servants who lived outside he overcame after a short resistance, and then bound them tightly and locked them up.

Inside the castle nobody was yet aware of what was going on outside. Not a single servant slept there. The young squire, in his terror of the epidemic, would not suffer one of them to sleep in the castle, the only people inside there besides himself were old Hétfalusy and the doctor.

Ivan then chose out six of the bravest of his followers, amongst them the watchman in whose sylvan hut they had held their secret meetings, Hamza, the sexton, and Mekipiros, whose mouth they had to gag, to prevent him from uttering his eternal "Hamamama!"

Poor Mekipiros! A little while ago he was able to pray, now he could not utter an intelligible word!

It was not difficult to get into the courtyard. The Leather-bell opened the gate for them. Inside the dogs were lying near the well stiff and stark, nothing had betrayed the venture.

And now Ivan produced a long strong rope, and tied on to it a lot of pack-thread, at the end of which a heavy piece of lead was fastened. Round the roof of the castle ran a metal gutter, which terminated at the corners in old-fashioned dolphins. On to one of such dolphins Ivan threw the pack-thread noose, and seizing hold of the re-descending lead plummet, hoisted up the rope likewise. It was really a capital idea. Mekipiros was to clamber up the rope, he knew the trick of it. He was to be the anima vilis by means of whom they were to find out whether the folks in the castle were asleep or not.

When he got to the top he was to pull up Ivan after him, and then the united strength of the pair of them would do the same by the others. They would then creep into the castle through the attics and open the doors, which were locked on the inside, to admit their comrades.

Nothing could have been more circumspectly conceived.

When the rope was firmly fastened to the top of the gutter Ivan hurried up Mekipiros and shoved the free end of the rope into his hand.

The little monster did not trust himself to shout but expressed his satisfaction in a lowly murmured "Hamamamama!"

The next moment he was clambering up the rope like a strange sort of huge spider, climbing rapidly higher and higher with agile hands and feet, occasionally he even helped himself along with his teeth. In a few moments he was sitting on the back of the copper dolphin, delighted to have found a steed in a monster similar to himself, and from thence he shouted: "Hu, hu, hu!" like an owl.

"Will you shut up!" called Ivan, in a voice of suppressed fury. "The beast will betray us! Haul up, can't you?"

Ivan clutched hold of the rope with both hands.

Mekipiros with vigorous tugs hoisted him upwards, hauling up the rope with his short arms as easily as if there were no weight attached to it.

"How I wish he would let him fall," murmured Dame Zudár to herself.

Thomas Bodza had much the same sort of wish in his own heart. Each of them had his or her particular reasons for wishing Ivan's plan to fail.

But Mekipiros did not let him drop. He hoisted him up right on to the roof and helped him to climb up on to the metal gutter.

Ivan scarce felt his feet once more, however, when, instead of expressing his gratitude, he expended his pent-up rage on his companion.

"You mad bullock, you, why did you roar out just now, eh?" he whispered in the ear of Mekipiros, and he viciously tugged at the stunted monster's bristly hair with one hand, at the same time holding his other hand before his mouth to prevent him from screaming out.

At that same instant Mekipiros turned upon Ivan with flashing eyes, seized him round the thighs and holding him fast embraced, hauled him along the roof. For a second the pair of them tottered on the very edge of the gutter, but then Ivan clutched the metal cornice and held on to it convulsively with both hands.

"Hamama, hamama, hamama!" howled the enraged monster. Like a heavy load of sin, he hung on to the legs of his prey, squeezing his knees together in an iron embrace, worrying his enemy's calves with his teeth, kicking and cuffing him, and striving to hurl him into the abyss below.

Ivan was fairly mad with terror.

"Help!" he roared, in a voice capable of arousing the Seven Sleepers, "help! He is killing me!"

"I knew what would be the end of it!" cried Dame Zudár, gnashing her teeth. "The poltroon is betraying us himself. Let him perish if he does not know how to live."

"Scoundrel!" Bodza shouted to him. "What! cannot you die speechless like a Julius Cæsar? And when the common cause demands that you should keep silence too! Fie upon you, I say!"

Ivan, in his desperation, writhed over the gulf beneath him, and forgetting everything but the horrible death awaiting him, bellowed hoarsely to those standing below:

"Help, for the love of Christ. Men, I say! do not let me perish! I am falling! I am dying. Woe is me! Spread straw underneath, can't you? Hold a carpet below me! Mercy, mercy! Let me go, Mekipiros! I beseech you, for God's sake, let me go!"

But it was no part of Mekipiros' plan to plunge down to the ground all by himself. For the last hour or so he had been joyfully awaiting this sweet moment, for this he had laughed, for this he had frisked about so uproariously. He was unable to conceal his delight. If only he could be alone with his tormentor at that giddy height, suddenly seize him, and hurl him down with himself from the roof, fly for a few seconds through the air, and then lie stretched upon the earth in a smashed and broken mass, so that it would be impossible to distinguish the one from the other—ah! then how happy he would be!

And—better than that even—his victim had clutched hold of something in the very act of falling, and so the delicious moment was indefinitely prolonged! He heard how his prey roared for help, saw how he writhed convulsively in the desperate hope of saving himself, how half out of his mind he even begged him, Mekipiros! for life: "Mekipiros, dear good Mekipiros, let me go, and plunge down alone!"

"Hamamama! hamamama!" gurgled the monster with a grim cruel voice, and he kicked the wall with his feet to make Ivan let go the quicker, and buried his scanty teeth in the fleshy legs of his victim, and worried him like a dog.

"Mercy, mercy! Help! I can hold out no longer!" gasped Ivan, his sinews beginning to stretch beneath the pressure of the double load. No help was possible. Those standing below cursed him for rousing the castle with his shouts. The narrow edge of the gutter was gradually slipping through his nerveless fingers. And now one hand relaxed its hold, and only by a last convulsive effort did he manage to hold on for a few seconds by the other.

"Hamamama!" screeched the monster, and then a yell, as of the lost, resounded from height to depth, and a huge round, black, writhing, coil came bounding rapidly to the ground, and there, the next instant, lay a mangled mass of flesh, in which perhaps at one time two souls had dwelt.

"And now let us see what the next can do," growled Dame Zudár, leaning nonchalantly back in her waggon, and crossing her arms over her breast like an impatient singer at a concert who waits for his turn in the programme to come while his colleagues are boring the public to death with their dismal performances.

At Ivan's first howl two lights had become visible in the two corner chambers of the castle, and presently both of these lights were observed hastening to the central hall only, a few moments later, to be extinguished. Then the iron shutters were banged down with a crash, only one square piece in the middle still remained raised.

The besieged were on their guard.

Now, Numa Pompilius, you have a fine field before you for the race of glory. Advance! put your ladders to the walls, hurl your beams against the foe, sling your stones against the roof, begin the struggle, and inspire the combatants with martial fury! Let shouts and yells and curses supply the place of thundering artillery! The enemy is aroused and expectant!

"Forward, ye heroes! The hour of the red dawn of our day of triumph is at hand. Victory to the valiant!"

The excited mob heard not a word of this classical appeal, its ears were too full of its own howlings, as it pressed into the courtyard.

Then from that window square, which had remained uncovered by the shutter, a shot resounded, at whose sharp report the hideous hubbub suddenly grew dumb, and during the lull a strong manly voice addressed the rioters:

"That was only a blank shot. If you do not instantly leave the courtyard we will fire among you with bullets."

"Let us depart hence, my noble patriots, let us depart!" stammered the Leather-bell. "It is Squire Széphalmi who commands it. It is not well to play games with him. He has a lot of six-barrelled firearms inside with three bullets in each barrel. A mischief may befall some of us else. We have wives and children at home. Let us go home, my dear fellow patriots. Early to-morrow morning we will send a deputation."

The greater part of the mob shared this good opinion, and began to show their respect for firearms by clearing out of the courtyard.

But Numa Pompilius, full of the fury of despair, barred the way against his retreating host.

"Miserable, cowardly deserters! What! a single blank shot is sufficient to turn you back! Holus-bolus, 'sicut examen apum,' ye decamp at the word of a single foe! Fie, fie upon you, ye dregs, ye sweepings of humanity!"

The bellicose commander spat in his disgust at the fugitives again and again, and overwhelmed them with all sorts of choice epithets. Finally he snatched up an axe, and declared that if nobody else stirred he would go and batter down the door of the castle single-handed.

But the Leather-bell threw his arms round the body of the enthusiastic hero lest he should hazard his life in so perilous an enterprise. Nay, he would not even let him enter the courtyard, but went so far as to seize the axe he held in his hand regardless of the kicks and cuffs he received during the struggle.

Dame Zudár laughed scornfully at this tragicomical scene.

"Why don't some other of you fellows hold him back too?" she cried. "He likes nothing better than not to be let go. Don't you see what a business he makes of it to rid himself of that feeble old man, whom he could throw to the ground with half a hand if he had a mind to. Get out of my way, will you? Men are out of place in a joke of this sort. My mother was a witch and I'm one also. Do you know that I can open every door before you with a single word. All you have got to do is to sharpen your knives."

And with that she opened the wicker covering of her waggon, which hitherto had been kept tightly closed, and as easily, as if she only held a down cushion in her hand, she hauled forth little Elise.

The child's hands were tied in front of her, and her head was completely enveloped in a thick woollen wrapper so that she could neither see nor cry out.

Dame Zudár removed the wrapper from the little girl's head, and ordered her to stand upright.

Then she produced a half burnt wax taper, the relic of some past funeral, lit it, and placed it between the child's fettered fingers.

"The woman is not quite right," growled shaggy-headed Hanák. "She lights a candle so that they may be better able to fire among us."

"Have no fear, shaggy pate. They will not fire at you. Go and huddle behind the doorpost if you like. I mean to go alone into the courtyard, and will draw the snake out of its hole with my bare hand."

The besiegers did not need much persuasion to hide themselves. When Dame Zudár passed through the gate with the child, everyone, not excepting Thomas Bodza, hastened to make himself scarce.

The child she sent on in front with the lighted taper sticking between its fettered fingers. She followed close behind. She had no fear of bullets now.

When they came in front of the open square in the shutter, she made the child stop, and bade it kneel down.

Then with a loud resounding voice she shouted up at the windows:

"Old Hétfalusy, are you there? Young Széphalmi, are you there?"

There was no answer.

"It is of no use denying yourselves. I am here to carry on my process against you. It is the old, old suit in which my father lost his life and my mother her reason. I have also brought along with me a tribunal which cannot be corrupted. I am now the stronger party."

"Take yourself off!" a hoarse, broken voice suddenly cried from the window; it very much resembled old Hétfalusy's.

"Oh, I'm to take myself off, eh!" cried the virago defiantly. "Am I not standing then on my own ground? Is not this corner of the house whose windows I am now rattling, built on the plot of ground belonging to my forefathers? Is not this ground my own? Are not these very stones, these very blades of grass on which I now trample, mine, mine, mine?"

"It may very easily be yours for ever, you wretched creature," said another voice, the voice of the younger squire. "If you do not go away, you shall die on the very spot."

The barrel of a gun flashed between the shutters, and the headsman's wife could see that it was pointed straight at her heart.

Quickly she pulled the little girl towards her.

"Aim away, Széphalmi!" she cried. "I have even taken the trouble to bring a light that you may see to aim straight."

And with that she snatched the candle from between the child's fingers, and held it so that it lit up her face.

"Look now! A pretty child, ain't she? Those blue eyes, those soft lips resemble someone you loved very much at one time, don't they? It would be a shame, wouldn't it, to make this tender, slender shape a target for bullets, wouldn't it?"

The barrel of the gun sank slowly down.

"How do you suppose now, Széphalmi," continued the virago, her face radiant with infernal malice, "how do you suppose now that the headsman's wife managed to get hold of this gentle cherub, who is as much like her as an angel is to a devil?"

"Woman!" hissed someone from within, though whether it was the old man or the young it was impossible to say.

Dame Zudár drew nearer, she now went right up to the window.

"You would like me to speak in a lower key, no doubt? Well, I may do that. You see how close I am standing to you, you could touch my body with the barrel of your musket. But you won't touch me, I know, for now it is I who am the destroyer."

And with that she laid her large, broad, muscular palm on the little girl's tender shoulder.

"This child is now eight years old. When she was born her father cursed her, her mother kicked her out, and her nurse confided her to a she-wolf that she might either kill it or bring it up along with her own whelps—which is much about the same thing. It is the foolish old story, the old grey wolf carried off the brat and brought it up; the old headsman nourished the innocent little girl, and defended her against all the wild beasts of the forest. Do I make the fable quite clear to you?"

A stifled moan was the sole reply.

"And then Heaven's lightning descended upon your house, misfortune was a constant visitor upon you, you soon had a pair of corpses under your roof, and there was no end to your affliction. Now I should say that that looked very much like a curse upon you.

"Yes, a curse pursued your family. When you had securely fastened the door behind you, you used to weep and wail like any beggar; yes, and no beggar at your door would have thanked you for the chance of exchanging his lot with yours."

To this there was no reply from behind the window.

The defiant features of the virago were illuminated by the candle which the child now held again in her hand. She seemed to cast a dark shadow upon the very night around her—the darkest of dark shadows.

And now she went right up to the window so that she could actually whisper through it.

"Come, throw down your weapons, ye great and haughty gentlemen, for they are no longer a defence to you. Something very evil is going to happen to-night, for I have not come to you for nothing, I can tell you."

And with that she drew from beneath the kerchief covering her breast the knife sharpened to a keen point, whose edge she had tested so carefully a short time before.

"Do you see my key?" cried she. "This is the key to your hearts, this is the key to the doors of your palaces. This knife will pare down your pride and humble you to the dust beneath my feet. You could shoot me dead as I stand here I know, though that would be no very great master-stroke. But the same instant in which I fell, my mother, the old witch, would stand behind my back and would shout to the infuriated mob with all the force of her lungs, and tell them whose this child is, and then do you know in whose heart this knife would be plunged first of all?"

A sort of painful wail came from below the dark window, like the sounds that are heard in a deserted, dilapidated old fortress where the whole building is ever sighing and moaning, and none can tell whence the noise comes.

During the virago's muttered discourse the bolder spirits among the mob had gradually flitted back again into the courtyard. They perceived that the headsman's wife was not afraid, and this of itself gave them courage. Some of them even drew near to the threshold of the house, where they pricked up their ears and did their best to catch something of what the woman was talking about so mysteriously. It might be worth their while to hear.

Dame Zudár began sharpening the knife against the stone ledge of the castle window.

"I give you three minutes to think it over," she now exclaimed aloud. "If you then say: let there be bloodshed! bloodshed there shall be."

And with that she turned back to the child.

There she stood in front of the castle threshold, with the heavenly resignation of a martyr on her pale, innocent face. She appeared to be quite undisturbed by the dreadful scene before her. The thought that she was now about to die absorbed all her faculties.

"Kneel down!" cried the virago coldly.

The child took her at her word, and knelt down on the lowest of the flight of steps.

"Pray, if you have a mind that way."

The child devoutly raised her eyes to Heaven, and holding the lighted candle in front of her in her tiny hands, began to sing this verse of a hymn: