This song, sung by thousands and thousands of warriors, gradually died away in the distance.

George Veer, on reaching Klausenburg, no longer found Banfi there. The Lord-Lieutenant with two hundred horsemen had departed an hour before.

Veer, after allowing his men a brief halt, followed Banfi all night long without being able to overtake him; the Baron had always the start of him, though sometimes only a few minutes.

It was already late in the night when Banfi with his two hundred horsemen reached the point where the Körös intersects the woody dale; just where a bridge crosses the stream the Turk had pitched his camp. Watchful Bedouins lay stretched on their bellies there, with their long muskets in their hands. It was impossible to surprise them.

In the direction of Banfi-Hunyad a red glow illuminated the sky, alternately waxing and waning.

Leaving his horsemen in ambush on the opposite shore, Banfi with four companions descended to the stream to seek for a ford. The Körös is there so rapid that it can unhorse the firmest rider. Fortunately it had fallen so much in consequence of the summer drought, that Banfi soon found a place where the water flowed more calmly, and waded successfully through it with his escort. One of them he sent back to fetch the rest, but he himself with the other three remained on the opposite bank looking steadily in the direction of the fire.

Meanwhile a patrol of Bedouin horsemen, who were keeping watch on the bank, perceived the three riders and their leader, and challenged them.

Banfi would have fallen back, but three of the Bedouins charged upon him forthwith, while the three others with couched lances fell upon his comrades.

"Bend your heads down over the necks of your horses, and seize their lances with your left hands!" cried Banfi to his companions; and with that they all four drew their swords, went at full tilt against the foe, and collided beneath the dark shadows without another word.

Banfi was in the centre. The lances of the three Bedouins whizzed through the air simultaneously, and Banfi's comrades fell on both sides of him, transfixed, from their horses, while he with his left hand skilfully disarmed one of the spearmen, at the same time dealing him a blow with his right hand which cleft his skull. He then turned single-handed upon his two nearest assailants, and cut down one with his lance and the other with his sword.

But now the three remaining horsemen fell furiously upon him.

"Come on then!" shouted Banfi, gnashing his teeth; and with that terrible humour peculiar to certain warriors in the hour of danger, he added—"I'll teach you how to wield the spear, my boys!" and setting his back against a clump of trees, he stuck his sword into its sheath, seized his spear with both hands, and not three minutes had elapsed before all three Bedouins had fallen from their horses to the ground.

Then he looked around to see if any more were coming, and was delighted to observe that the Turks at the bridge had heard nothing of the tussle, while his two hundred horsemen had come down to the river-side and were noiselessly crossing to the opposite bank.

Some of the fallen Bedouins were still moaning and groaning.

"Smash their skulls in, that they may not betray us with their cries!"

"Ought we not to await Veer's troops?" asked one of the captains.

"We cannot. We haven't time!" replied Banfi, with his eyes fixed upon the ruddy horizon, and the little band proceeded covertly through field and forest.

Soon a distant hubbub struck upon their ears, and when they had climbed to the top of a little hill, Banfi-Hunyad emerged before their eyes.

Banfi gave a sigh of relief. It was not the town that was burning, but the haystacks. The roofs of the houses had been taken off beforehand by the inhabitants themselves to prevent the enemy from setting them on fire. Even the church and castle were roofless, and the Turkish host could be seen swarming round them by the light of the conflagration, whilst from the battlements a fiery rain of sulphur and pitch, occasionally intermingled with heavy beams, poured down upon the besiegers, and drove them back from the walls.

Ali Pasha had not waited for his artillery,—it had stuck fast in the wretched roads,—imagining that he could easily storm a place defended only by women and peasants. But it is notorious that despair makes every one a soldier, and that even scythes and axes are good weapons in resolute hands.

At this spectacle Banfi's features grew flaming red. He fancied he saw a white female form on the pinnacle of the tower, immediately gave his horse the spur, and rushed forward like a whirlwind, crying to his horsemen—

"Don't count the enemy now; we shall have time enough for that afterwards, when we have cut them all down!" and in a quarter of an hour the little band had reached the camp before the town.

There every one was slumbering. Whilst one half of the host was storming the town the other found time to repose. Even the heads of the sentries hung drowsily down. There they lay, close to their horses, and only awoke out of their dreams when Banfi was already charging through their ranks.

The Baron, who seemed bent upon relieving the besieged single-handed, cut down everything that came in his way; while the Turks, scared out of their slumbers, blindly snatched up sword and spear, and began massacring each other, despite all the efforts of the Tsahusz's to restore order.

Meanwhile Banfi was madly forcing his way through the Turkish host surrounding the church. The foremost rows fled back aghast at this unexpected onslaught; but a brigade of Ali Pasha's picked Mamelukes rode forward and arrested the flight.

A gigantic Moor stood at the head of this troop. His horse too was an extraordinarily big beast, a stallion sixteen hands high. The protuberant, swelling muscles of the dusky giant's naked arms shone like steel in the hellish glare of the burning haystacks, his broad mouth was bleeding from the blow of a stone, and the whites of his eyes gleamed ghost-like out of his dark countenance.

"Halt, Giaour!" roared the Moor, with a voice which rose above the din of battle, and he went straight for Banfi. In his enormous fist sparkled a sabre as broad as a man's hand; it appeared too heavy even for him.

Two hussars riding in front of Banfi fell right and left before two blows from the monster, one without his head, the other cleft to the shoulder. Throwing back his arm for a third stroke, the Moor rose in his stirrups, and exclaimed with a voice of thunder—

"I am Kariassar, the invincible! Thank thy God that thou diest by my hand!" and with that he swept his sword backwards, and dealt a tremendous blow at Banfi's head.

The Baron, with the utmost sangfroid, brought his sword in front of his face, and at the very moment when Kariassar let fly at him, made with lightning-like swiftness a dextrous lunge at the Moor's fist—it was what fencers call an inner cut—striking off Kariassar's four fingers, so that the heavy scimitar fell clashing out of the fingerless hand.

The black's face grew pale from rage and pain. With a frightful howl he instantly threw himself on Banfi, and disregarding fresh wounds on his face and shoulders, seized Banfi's right hand with his left, and must have dragged him from his horse by sheer brute force if the Baron had not had an uncommonly firm seat.

It seemed as if the Moor were capable of crushing him with only one hand. But Banfi was a good rider, and now he pressed his horse tightly with his knee, whereupon the noble beast reared and plunged; and while the giant was struggling with his master, and tearing at his lacerated arm with a lion's strength, the war-horse turned suddenly on the Moor, struck him a blow on the thigh with its front hoof, bit his brawny breast with foaming mouth, and shook the bitten part between its teeth.

Kariassar yelled aloud, and suddenly relinquishing the Baron, grasped his poniard with his left hand, and writhing with pain, drew it from its sheath; but at the self-same moment Banfi dealt a rapid stroke at the giant's neck. The huge head rolled suddenly to the ground, and while the blood shot up in a threefold jet from the severed neck, the headless figure remained for an instant swaying on its horse, and spasmodically waving its poniard—a fearful spectacle to friend and foe.

At the sight of their leader's fall the terrified Mamelukes scattered in all directions, trampling one another down in their panic-flight. At the same time the defenders of the church threw down their barricades and made a sortie, Dame Vizaknai at their head with a drawn sword, and close behind her the priests as standard-bearers with the church's banners. The great besieging host, thus caught between two fires, was cut in two, leaving a free space on one side for the scythes of the peasants, and on the other for the csakanys of the hussars.

The csakany, by the way, is a mighty weapon in the hands of those who know how to use it. Its strokes are almost unavoidable. Its long, pointed beak smites down with such force as to crush shield and helmet to pieces, and a sword is no defence against it.

Step by step the besieged and the relief party drew nearer to each other, driving before them the Janissaries, who contested every inch of ground, and even when lying on the ground half-dead, aimed with their daggers at the feet of the horses which trampled them down.

Dame Vizaknai sprang towards Denis Banfi and seized his horse by the bridle.

"The danger is great, my lord! The Turk is twenty to one. Come behind the churchyard wall."

"I'll not budge a single step," replied Banfi coolly; "but that is no reason why you should not save yourself behind your barricades."

"Not another step do I budge either," rejoined Dame Vizaknai.

"I can defend myself!" cried Banfi vehemently.

"And I too!" replied the lady proudly.

The next instant fresh squadrons came streaming up from every quarter, as if they had fallen from the clouds or sprung from the earth—infantry and cavalry with long muskets, bows and arrows, and ribboned darts.

"Ali! Ali! Allah akbar!"

The Hungarian forces ranged themselves in battle array, with their backs to the churchyard wall, and awaited the attack. From the end of the street a glittering array of horsemen was seen approaching; it consisted of a picked corps of Spahis[39] on stately Arabs, whose emerald-set saddles sparkled in the firelight. In their midst rode Ali on a slender, snow-white Barbary steed, in his hand flashed a diamond-hilted scimitar; on his head he wore a turbaned helmet; his long black beard fell down over his silver breastplate. On coming within gunshot of Banfi's host, he halted and marshalled his squadrons.

Hitherto Banfi had not touched his pistols, the wonderfully-carved ivory handles of which peeped forth from his holsters. But now he drew them forth and handed them to Dame Vizaknai.

"Take them!" said he; "you must have wherewith to defend yourself."

Meanwhile Ali Pasha had sent forward a herald, who, drawing near to the Hungarians, delivered the following message to them—

"My master, Ali Pasha, informs you, O ye unbelieving Giaours, that every loophole of escape is closed. Wherefore then strive against him further? Lay down your weapons and throw yourselves upon his mercy."

Scarcely had the herald finished speaking when two shots resounded, and he fell dead from his horse. Dame Vizaknai had fired both pistols at him by way of reply. Then Ali Pasha beckoned furiously to the squadrons surrounding him, and from all sides there rained darts, bullets, and arrows on the little band of Hungarians. The same moment Dame Vizaknai climbed on to Banfi's stirrups, and supporting herself on his shoulders with one hand, cried—

"Fear nought, my friends!"

A crackling report and a hissing shower of darts followed. Dame Vizaknai covered Banfi with her body, and after the fiery tempest had roared past, the Baron felt her hold upon his arm relaxing. An arrow had struck her just above the heart.

"That arrow was meant for you," said Dame Vizaknai, with a faint voice, and she sank dead to the ground.

"Poor lady!" cried Banfi, with a look of compassion. "She always loved me, and would never show it."

And then blood flowed instead of tears.

The Turkish host surrounded the Hungarians on every side, but were unable to break through their ranks. Banfi was already fighting with his eighth Spahi, who like the seven others was at last overcome by the Baron's extraordinary dexterity. Ali Pasha was beside himself with rage.

"Why can't you cut down that grizzly dog?" roared he furiously, and galloped himself against Banfi, driving his flying followers out of his way with the flat part of his sword-blade. "'Tis I, Ali Pasha, who now stands before thee, vile hog!" bellowed he, gnashing his teeth, "thou son of a dog, thou."

"Keep your titles for yourself," cried Banfi, and riding up to the Pasha he dealt him a tremendous blow on the helmet with his sword, so that sword and helmet were both smashed to pieces, and the champions reeled back half stunned. Ali quickly snatched from his armour-bearers a round shield, while Banfi was hastily provided with a steel csakany, and again they rushed upon each other.

The csakany fell with fearful force upon the shield, and knocked a hole through it, while Ali lunged forward with his scimitar, and this time only a very dexterous twist of the head saved Banfi's life.

"I'll play ball with thy head!" cried Ali contemptuously.

"And I'll make a broom of thy beard!" retorted Banfi.

"I'll have thy coat-of-arms nailed up over my stables!"

"And thy skin, stuffed with sawdust, shall serve me as a scarecrow!"

"Thou rebellious slave!"

"Thou barber's apprentice turned general."

Every abusive epithet was accompanied by a fresh and furious blow.

"Thou dishonourable girl-snatcher," cried the Pasha, with foaming mouth. "Thou dost filch Turkish maidens for thy unclean embraces; therefore will I carry off thy wife and make her the lowest slave in my harem."

To Banfi the world seemed all at once to be turning round and round. His soul had received three wounds, which quite divested him of humanity.

"Thou accursed devil," he roared, gnashing his teeth, seized his csakany by the middle with both hands, sprang closer to Ali, and whirled his weapon with lightning-like rapidity over his head, so that it flew round and round in his hands like the sail of a windmill, crashing down now with its axe-head, now with its bullet-shaped nether end on his antagonist's shield, and attacking and defending himself at the same time. Ali Pasha, confused at this altogether novel mode of attack, would have retired; but the two war-horses, furiously biting each other about the head and neck, were now taking part in the contest of their masters, and could not be parted.

The Spahis, seeing their leader waver, threw themselves between the combatants and drove from Banfi's side his escort of hussars. The Baron now perceiving that all his people had fled to the churchyard, directed one last swift stroke at Ali's shield, which, to judge from Ali's agonized howl, penetrated it at the very spot where fitted on to the arm. Banfi had no time for a third encounter, as he was now completely surrounded.

At that moment a well-known flourish of trumpets resounded in the rear of the combatants, and a fresh and general battle-cry mingled with the din—

"God and St. Michael."

George Veer had arrived with the banderia.

"God and St. Michael!" thundered the leader of the nobility, conspicuous among them all in his silver coat of mail with the bearskin thrown over his shoulders; and with his toothed battle-axe he hewed his way through the ranks of the astonished Turks.

The attack was skilfully conducted; the mounted nobility pressed on from all sides, simultaneously bringing the Turkish host everywhere into confusion, so that one wing could not assist the other, and the outermost ranks were always borne down by superior numbers.

Ali Pasha had received a bad wound in the arm from Banfi's last blow, which had daunted his courage, so he stuck his spurs into his horse's sides and gave the signal for retreat.

The Turkish host was driven head and heels out of the town, and its leaders endeavoured to retreat among the Gyalyui Alps, hoping to rally it again in the narrow defiles.

Outside the town the battle, fast becoming a rout, still raged furiously. The Hungarians scattered about the burning hayricks, and were so intermingled in the darkness of the night with their opponents that they could only distinguish one another by their battle-cries.

The harassed Turkish host, which in the darkness and confusion at one time took refuge among the enemy, and at another cut down their own comrades, tried to imitate the battle-cry of the Hungarians, but this only made the mischief greater; for as they could not pronounce the words "Angel Michael," but always cried "Anchal Michel," they exposed themselves more completely to the Hungarians.

The Turkish army was now completely beaten; more than a thousand of its dead lay in the streets and around the church, and only the mountain passes, into which it was not prudent for the Hungarians to follow them, saved them from utter annihilation.

George Veer therefore sounded the recall, whilst Banfi, with restless rage, rushed hither and thither after the flying foe. All in vain; every way was barred by the trunks of trees which the Turks had hewn down in hot haste.

"We must let them escape!" cried Veer, thrusting his sabre into its sheath.

"Say not so! say not so!" cried Banfi excitedly, and riding up to the top of a hillock, he seemed to be observing something in the distance. Suddenly he exclaimed with a joyful voice—"Look yonder. The fire-signals have just been lit!"

And indeed on the crests of the Gyalyui Mountains the fire-signals could be seen flashing up one by one in a long line.

"Those are our people!" cried Banfi, with fresh enthusiasm. "The Turk is caught in the trap. Forward!" And remarshalling his squadrons, he galloped towards the barricaded forest paths, heedless of the warnings of the more circumspect Veer.

Meanwhile Ali Pasha, abandoning his tents, camels, and booty-laden wagons to the enemy, sent Dzem Haman, the Albanian commander, on before, to level the roads over the snowy mountains.

As now Dzem Haman was advancing through the darkness and superintending the labours of his Albanian pioneers, he heard voices in the steep rock above his head, and a company of armed men suddenly emerged from the mountain passes before his eyes.

The troops on both sides challenged each other simultaneously.

"Who are ye? What are you doing?"

"We are carrying stones," answered Dzem Haman. "And you?"

"We too are carrying stones," was the answer from above.

"We are Dzem Haman's men, who are removing the stones from the path of Ali Pasha—and ye, are you not Csaky's men?"

"We are collecting stones for the head of Ali Pasha, and are Michael Angel's people," resounded from above, and at the same time a terrible rain of stones rolled down upon the heads of the Albanians, by way of confirming the statement.

"Michel Anchal is here also!" roared the terrified Albanians, falling back aghast, and creating a panic among those behind them by declaring that they were surrounded.

At these tidings, the Turkish host, harassed from before and behind, resolved itself into a disorderly mass, on which, at break of day, the Hungarian infantry began rolling enormous masses of stone and rock.

Ali Pasha attempted first on one side and then on another to break through the enemy's lines, but was everywhere driven back with fearful loss by the missiles hurled down from above. The boldest warriors, who had fought man to man in a hundred battles, fled back pale and trembling before the thundering masses of rock, which so completely smashed everything that came in their way that horse and rider were undistinguishable.

Ali Pasha tore his beard in impotent rage on perceiving that he and all his host were at the mercy of an army even now much weaker than his own.

"There is neither help nor refuge, save with the Most High God!" cried he, breaking his sword in twain in his despair; and drawing out his pistols, he pointed them at his own heart.

At that moment a hand snatched his weapons from him, and Ali Pasha saw Zülfikar before him.

"What wouldst thou do, madman?" cried he. "Thou wouldst not have me fall into the hands of the unbelievers?"

"I would deliver you and your host out of their hands," said Zülfikar.

"By the shadow of Allah, thou dost speak brave words, and if thou couldst but do as thou sayst, I would make thee the foremost of my captains."

"I desire no such honour. Promise me a thousand ducats, and send me as a messenger to Banfi."

"So that thou mayst betray my position to him, eh! thou cur?"

"I've no need to do that. He can see it for himself from yon hill-top. You are as good as dead and buried already, so that you have no choice but to trust to me. You may hold out for a couple of days perhaps; but then you and your bravest heroes must perish with hunger just like me. We are all in the same evil case, there is nothing to choose between any of us."

"And what wouldst thou do, wretched slave?"

"Induce Banfi to withdraw his troops from the road leading to Kalota, and thus leave us a loophole of escape."

"And dost thou think that possible?"

"It may, or it may not be so. Where death is certain, a man cares not what he risks. If I can speak to Banfi this evening, you may be able to escape the same night. If I succeed, well. If not, we shall be no worse off than we are now."

"The fellow speaks boldly. Do as thou dost desire. I'll trust thee. Allah alone reads the secrets of the heart. Go!"

Zülfikar laid down his arms, and went all alone down to the narrow pass leading to Kalota. When he came to the Hungarian outposts, his eyes fell upon rows of dead Turks who had been hung up on the trees along the wayside. This sight did not appear to disturb the renegade in the least. He stepped boldly among the Magyars, and as they seized him, said quickly to them in the purest Hungarian—

"Bring me to Denis Banfi. I am his spy!"

"You lie!" cried they. "Sling him up."

"I can prove it," continued Zülfikar, with a loud voice, and taking a neatly-folded parchment out of his turban, he handed it to the captain.

The letter contained these words—

"I, Gregory Söter, hereby declare to all the commanders of the Hungarian troops that Zülfikar, the bearer of this letter, is my faithful war-spy. Let him pass free everywhere."

The captain gave back the letter, not without grumbling, and bade two of his soldiers lead Zülfikar to Banfi, but they were to cut him down at once if the general did not acknowledge him. However, at the first glance Banfi recognized in him Pongracz, Balassa's former servant, and motioned to his men to leave them alone together.

"So you have turned Turk?" said Banfi.

"This is no time for questions, my lord. 'Tis for me to speak, and to the point. I'll be brief, if you'll let me. Emerich Balassa expelled me from his house when he learnt that I had helped you to abduct Azrael."

"Good!" said Banfi, contracting his brows. "The girl has flown from me too—whither, I know not."

"Yes, my lord, you do; and the worst of it is, others know it also. Close to the Gradina Dracului there is a habitation among the rocks, and there she dwells."

"Silence!" cried Banfi, aghast. "How know you that?"

"Balassa has lodged a complaint with the Prince about the abduction of the girl. The matter is not such a trifle as you imagine. Azrael is the Sultan's daughter, who, after being betrothed to Ali Pasha, was carried off by Corsar Beg, whom Balassa's poison alone saved from the silken cord, while Balassa himself has become a homeless vagabond because of her. She has been the ruin of all who ever possessed her. It is your turn now. The Prince having promised the disgraced Ladislaus Csaky everything he likes to ask, if only he can ferret out the girl's hiding-place, Csaky slyly commissioned the Patrol-officer to make inquiries among the people whether a panther had been seen anywhere in the woods, for he well knew that it is the habit of this wild beast to roam about in search of prey. Its track led them to the rocky retreat, the girl has been seen, and everything discovered."

"Devils and hell!" cried Banfi, turning pale.

"Listen further. Csaky communicated his plan to Ali Pasha, and it was agreed between them that while the Pasha attacked Banfi-Hunyad, Csaky with two thousand Wallachs was to scour the mountains under the pretext of a hunt, and storm the Devil's Garden."

"What infernal villainy!" cried Banfi, striking his sword with his fist.

"It is just possible, my lord, that you might still arrive in time," added the renegade insidiously, "if you do not stay here too long."

"We'll be off at once," cried Banfi, pale with rage. "I'll teach these lickspittlers to invade the domains of a free nobleman at the very moment when he himself is fighting against the enemies of his country. A few hundred men will be sufficient to keep Ali Pasha in check from this side. With the rest I wager I'll be able to pull Master Ladislaus Csaky out by the ears if I catch him trespassing."

And immediately Banfi commanded his men to set out for Marisel as swiftly and as silently as possible, and bade the little band he left behind him light many large fires in the wood, so as to make the enemy believe that the whole host was bivouacking there, while he himself hastened towards the imperilled hiding-place. To Zülfikar he paid five hundred gold pieces for his timely warning.

The same night Ali Pasha fell with his whole host upon the two or three hundred Hungarians whom Banfi had left behind him; scattered them after a brief resistance, and hastened back to Grosswardein, swallowing as best he could the indignity of a great defeat, for he left behind him two thousand dead, and the whole of his baggage.

From him too Zülfikar received the covenanted one thousand gold pieces, thus doing a service to the Turks and to the Hungarians at the same time, and making both of them pay him for his pains.

CHAPTER V.
THE BANQUET TRIBUNAL.

"Nay, nay; you'll not put me off. It is not my practice to let those who have come to me as guests depart hungry and thirsty. I cannot regard you as poachers, I suppose? And if you are not poachers, you must be guests."

"A third case is also possible."

"I know of none."

"Your Excellency shall learn from me that there is, though."

"Quite right. But there will be time for that at table. So turn your horses' heads towards Bonczhida, gentlemen."

"I've already said that we can't accept your invitation."

"What! Are you so ill acquainted with my hospitality as not to know that, if necessary, I will carry you off by force? Ha, ha! You must take away with you a reminiscence of Bonczhida. As you know now what my wild animals are like, you must make the acquaintance of my domestic animals also. In any case, I mean to take you by force."

"A truce to jesting, Banfi. This is not the place for it."

"Methinks 'tis you that jest. I am perfectly serious when I say that I will take you with me even against your will."

"We should like to see you do it."

"Then see it you shall," and with that Banfi blew on his horn, and instantly armed squadrons poured forth from every corner of the wood. Count Csaky and his merry men were completely surrounded.

"Ha! this is treachery!" cried Csaky wildly.

"Oh dear, no! 'Tis only a little carnival jest," replied Banfi, laughing. "This time 'tis the quarry which captures the huntsmen. Forward, comrades! Take these gentlemen's horses by the bridles, and follow me with them to Bonczhida. If any one stands upon ceremony, tie his legs to the stirrups."

"I protest against this compulsion," cried Csaky furiously. "I take you all to witness that I enter my protest against this act of violence."

"I for my part call every one to witness," repeated Banfi, laughing, "that I've invited these gentlemen to a banquet in the most friendly manner in the world."

"I protest! 'Tis violence."

"Nonsense! 'Tis a merry jest. 'Tis Hungarian hospitality!"

Some of the gentlemen laughed, others swore. As however Banfi had numbers on his side, the Csakyites sulkily and wrathfully submitted at last to their jocose tyrant, and allowed themselves to be conducted to Bonczhida, though Csaky stopped every one he met on the road, and took them to witness that Banfi was doing him violence, while Banfi laughingly endeavoured to make it plain to the good people that the worthy gentleman was a trifle fuddled, and that they were playing a harmless little practical joke upon him.

"You will live to bitterly rue this!" cried Csaky, gnashing his teeth, and half beside himself with rage.

As they were passing through a village, one of Csaky's company, a young nobleman, whom his friends called Szantho, broke away from the crowd and vanished before he could be overtaken.

"Let him go to the devil!" cried Banfi gaily. "We will manage to be merry without him, eh! my lord Ladislaus Csaky?"

Gradually Csaky recovered his sangfroid, and his wrath seemed to abate; indeed, by the time they reached Bonczhida he wore a radiantly smiling countenance, for he was well aware that it would be indecent as well as ridiculous to pull wry faces before ladies. He therefore allowed himself to be presented to Dames Apafi and Banfi as a chance guest picked up on the way, without the least show of ill-humour.

Banfi crowned his insult by assigning to Csaky the place of honour at the head of the table, next his wife, and sitting opposite to him treated him with the most marked attention, through which there ran, however, a vein of the most trenchant irony. And Csaky was not even able to resent it! What must his feelings have been!

As the banquet was drawing to a close and the general mirth increased proportionately, Csaky grew more and more furious. He was sitting all the time on burning coals, and had to smile and simper as if he liked it. At last Banfi invented a fresh torture for him, by raising his pocal and drinking his guest's health. Csaky was obliged to clink glasses, drain his own to the very dregs, and endure to see Banfi laughing at him in his sleeve all the time. Every drop he drank was so much poison to him with that mocking laugh ringing in his ears.

And all this refined torture was so delicately veiled, that it escaped the attention of the ladies altogether.

Just as the mirth was most uproarious, the folding-doors suddenly flew wide open, and, without any previous announcement, Prince Michael Apafi, to whom the fugitive Szantho had brought the news of Csaky's capture, entered the room.

Both ladies, with a cry of joyful surprise, hastened towards the unexpected guest; but the gentlemen, perceiving from the Prince's face that a storm was brewing, suddenly became very grave.

Banfi alone preserved his usual grand seignorial gaiety, which could even express anger with a smiling countenance. He sprang quickly from his seat, and hastened joyfully towards the Prince.

"By Heaven, a lucky coincidence! Your Highness comes to us at the very instant that we are draining our glasses in your Highness's honour. This is what I call an unlooked-for and most timely arrival."

Apafi received this salutation with a slight nod, and leading the ladies back to their places, sat down himself on Banfi's chair. Several of the guests hastened to offer Banfi their seats, but the Prince beckoned him to approach.

"Your Excellency will remain standing. We would submit you to a little friendly cross-examination."

"If we are to be the judges in this case," interrupted the learned Master Csekalusi, taking up his glass, "allow me to inform you that the necessary preliminaries[40] have already been observed."

"I will be the judge," said Apafi; "although I do not quite know who is the master at Bonczhida, myself or Denis Banfi."

"The law of the land is the master of us both, your Highness," returned Banfi.

"Well answered! You would remind us that an Hungarian nobleman permits no one to sit in judgment upon him in his own house. But this affair is after all only a little carnival jest. At least you have been pleased to call it so, and we will follow your example."

The most anxious suspense was legible in the faces of all present: they did not know whether the jest would end seriously or the reverse.

"Your Excellency," continued Apafi, "has seized our envoy, Lord Ladislaus Csaky, and brought him to your house by force."

"Ah!" cried Banfi, with affected astonishment, "I see it all now. Why then did not the Count tell me at once that you had sent him to hunt in my preserves? And besides, if your Highness had taken a fancy to some of my game, why did you not let me know it? I would have shot more excellent bucks for your Highness than any that my Lord Csaky could catch."

"This has nothing to do with bucks, my lord baron. You know very well the ins and outs of the whole business. Don't force me to speak out plumply before these ladies."

At these words Lady Banfi would have risen, but the Princess prevented her.

"You must remain here," she whispered in her ear.

"So far, I don't understand a single word," said Banfi, in an injured tone.

"No? Then we'll recall to your mind a couple of circumstances. The peasants have caught sight of a panther in your woods."

"It is possible," returned Banfi, laughing—for a Hungarian gentleman may jest with his guests but never be rude to them, however much they offend him—"it is possible that this panther is a descendant of those which came into the land with Árpád,[41] and may therefore be called ancestral panthers."

"It is no matter for jesting, my lord. That panther has torn a young Wallach to pieces in the sight of several persons, wherefore I sent out Lord Ladislaus Csaky to hunt down the beast and kill it. And Csaky had seen the monster and was hard upon it when you met him in the forest and stopped him."

"Lord Ladislaus Csaky no doubt mistook his own tiger-skin for a panther."

"No gibes, please. The lair of the monster is discovered. Do you understand me now?"

"I understand your Highness. But 'twas a pity to put my lord Csaky to so much inconvenience for such a trifle. So 'twas he then who discovered the pleasure-house which I built over a hot spring among the rocks? Well, I don't think even such a discovery as that will earn for him the title of a Columbus."

"You persist in sneering then? Will nothing make you bow your haughty head? Suppose now I knew the secret of that mysterious cave, what then?"

Banfi began to change colour, and he answered in a low, husky voice, like a man who finds it very difficult not to speak the truth.

"'Tis a very simple matter, sir. It was I who discovered Börvolgy; but as soon as the rumour of the hot spring spread abroad, the public tried to take possession of it. Now, I had also discovered a rich mineral vein beneath the Gradina Dracului, and to prevent it from being appropriated, I had a little private pleasure-house built there among the rocks for the exclusive use of my wife."

By these last words Banfi wished to make the Prince understand that he ought to spare his wife, but they produced exactly the contrary effect.

"Oh, you vile hypocrite!" cried the Prince, starting up and striking the table with his clenched fist. "You would use your wife as a cloak, well knowing all the time that you keep there a Turkish girl on whose account the Sultan is about to ravage the land with fire and sword!"

Lady Banfi uttered a piercing shriek. Her sister whispered in her ear—

"Be strong! Now is the time to show what you are made of."

Banfi furiously bit his lips, but controlled himself with a mighty effort, and answered calmly—

"That is not true, sir! That I deny!"

"What! Not true! There are people who have seen her."

"Who?"

"Clement, the Patrol-officer."

"Clement the poet? Ah! We all know that lying is the masterpiece of poets."

"Very well, my lord baron. As you deny everything, I will try to get to the bottom of the matter myself. I will therefore go in person to the place in question, and if I find confirmation of that whereof you are accused, let me tell you that a threefold punishment awaits you: first, for the rape of the Turkish girl; next, for the violence done to a princely messenger; and thirdly, for adultery. Each one of these deeds is sufficient in itself to hurl you down from your presumptuous height. My lord Csaky, lead us to this place; and you, my lord Denis Banfi, will in the meantime remain here."

Banfi stood there with a bloodless face, and his feet rooted to the ground.

Meanwhile his wife had risen from her seat, and rallying all her strength with a supreme effort, stepped in front of the Prince and said—

"Sir, pardon my husband! He knows nothing of this thing—the fault is mine—the woman whom you seek turned to me for protection in her hour of need—and—I concealed her in that place—without my husband's knowledge."

Every word she spoke seemed to cost the pale, fragile lady superhuman exertion. Banfi turned very red and cast down his eyes before her. The Princess looked triumphantly at her sister and pressed her hand.

"Well done!" she whispered. "That was indeed noble and heroic!"

Apafi saw through the magnanimous fraud; but he was determined that Banfi should not escape him that way, so, turning wrathfully upon him, he exclaimed—

"And you permit your wife to commit such indiscretions, which might so easily ruin your family, nay, the realm itself? She must be punished for it, and I therefore request you to reprimand her on the spot!"

Lady Banfi, full of resignation, sank down upon her knees before her guests, and bowed her head like a criminal awaiting punishment.

"It is not my practice to correct my wife in public," murmured Banfi, with an unsteady voice.

"Then I'll do so myself," cried Apafi; and approaching the lady he said—"You deserve, madame, to be sent to jail!"

"That I would not allow, sir!" muttered Banfi between his teeth.

He was now as pale as a corpse. All his blood, all his fire, seemed concentrated in his eyes. All his muscles quivered with shame and rage.

"Gentlemen!" interrupted a sweet, sonorous voice. How soothingly it sounded amidst the rough contention of angry men. It was the voice of the Princess, who stepped between the lady and her accuser. "In former times," she cried reproachfully, "noblemen were ever wont to respect noble ladies."

"So you are again at hand to defend those whom I attack?" cried the Prince petulantly.

"I am again at hand to prevent your Highness from committing an act of injustice. I have always the right to defend my sister—but it becomes my duty to do so when she is insulted!"

With these words the Princess embraced Margaret, who no sooner felt herself in the embrace of a stronger than herself, than she lost all her artificial strength, and sank senseless into her sister's arms.

Banfi would have hastened to his wife's assistance, but Dame Apafi waved him back.

"Go!" cried she; "I'll take care of her!"

"Then you mean to remain here?" said the Prince to his consort, in a voice trembling between wrath and compassion.

"My sister has need of me—and you, I see, can do without me."

Apafi, ever since his wife had begun to speak, had plainly lowered his crest, and fearing lest she might rout him altogether, he hastily quitted the battle-field with a half triumph. He could not fail to be very much discontented with the result of his investigation. He felt that he had wounded Banfi in a sore place, but he also felt that the wound was not mortal. The great nobleman had been affronted rather than humbled. So much the worse for him! What will not bend must be broken.

CHAPTER VI.
THE DIET OF KAROLY-FEHERVÁR.

A new and mightier race came into it; the former inhabitants were buried beneath the ruins of their palaces and temples, and instead of the proprætor's palace, the gilded and enamelled dwelling of Duke Gyula,[42] with its skittle-shaped roof, towered up like an enchanted castle from the Thousand and One Nights, and on the ruins of the temple of Vesta the pagan forefathers of the Magyars built altars under the open sky, where they worshipped the sun, the stars, and a naked sword. Then the town was called Gyula-Fehervár.[43]