With these words the orator beckoned to one of the deputation, at whose summons, four porters appeared carrying between them, suspended on two poles, a large iron chest, which Farkas Bethlen opened, discharging its contents at the feet of the Grand Vizier.

The jingling thalers fell in heaps around the Diván, and the sound of the rolling coins filled the room. The features of the Grand Vizier suddenly changed. Maurocordato stepped back. Bethlen's last words had needed no interpreter; the Vizier could not keep back from his face a hideous smile, the grin of the devil of covetousness. His eyes grew large and round, he no longer clenched his teeth together, he was rather like a wild beast eager to pounce upon his prey.

Farkas Bethlen humbly withdrew among his colleagues; the Vizier could not resist the temptation, he descended from the Diván, rubbing his hands, tapping the shoulders of the last speaker, smiling at all the deputies, and even going so far as to extend his hand to one or two of them, which those fortunate beings hastened to kiss, and spoke something to them in Turkish, to which they felt bound to reply with profound obeisances.

During this scene Maurocordato had quitted the Diván, and as in default of an interpreter the envoys were unable to understand the words of the Vizier, and could only bow repeatedly, Kiuprile, who had learnt Hungarian while he was Pasha of Eger, arose and roared at them in a voice which made the very ceiling shake:

"The Vizier bids you go to hell, ye dogs of Giaours, and if we want you again we will send for you!" Whereupon he gave a vicious kick at a thaler which had rolled to his feet, while the deputies, after innumerable salutations, left the Diván.

On the departure of the Prince's envoys, the Grand Vizier immediately sent for Béldi and his comrades. When the refugees entered the Diván, not one of them yet knew that the envoys of the Prince had been there and brought the money which they saw piled up before them, though they could not for the life of them understand what the Grand Vizier and themselves had to do with all that money; and inasmuch as Maurocordato had also departed, and the cavasses sent after him could not find him anywhere, the Hungarians, in the absence of an interpreter, stood there for some time in the utmost doubt, striving to explain as best they could the signification of the peculiar signs which the Grand Vizier kept making to them from time to time, pointing now at the heaps of money and now at them, and expounding his sayings with all ten fingers. Every time he glanced at the money he could not restrain his disgusting, hyæna-like smile.

"Don't you see," whispered Csaky to Béldi, "the Grand Vizier intends all that money for us?"

Béldi could not help smiling at this artless opinion.

At last, as the interpreter did not come, Kiuprile was constrained, very much against the grain, to arise and interpret the wishes of the Grand Vizier as best he could.

"Worthy sirs, this is what the Grand Vizier says to you. The Prince's deputies have been here. They ought to have their necks broken—that's what I say. They brought with them this sum of money, and they said all sorts of things which are not true, but the money which they brought is true enough. Having regard to which the Grand Vizier says to you that he recognises the justice of your cause and approves of it, but the mere recognition of its justice will make no difference to it, for it will remain just what it was before. But if you would make your righteous cause progress and succeed, promise him seventy more purses than those of the Prince's envoys, and then we will close with you. We will then fling them into the Bosphorus sewn up in sacks, but you we will bring back into your own land and make you the lords of it."

A bitter smile crossed the lips of Paul Béldi, he sighed sorrowfully, and looked back upon his comrades.

"You know right well, sir," said he to Kiuprile, "that we have no money, nor do I know from whence to get as much as you require, and my colleagues are as poor as I am. We never used the property of the State as a means of collecting treasures for ourselves, and what little remained to us from our ancestors has already been divided among the servants of the Prince. We have no money wherewith to buy us justice, and if there be no other mode of saving our country, then in God's name dismiss us and we will throw ourselves at the feet of some foreign Prince, and supplicate till we find one who must listen to us. God be with you; money we have none."

"Then I have!" cried a voice close beside Béldi; and, looking in that direction, they saw Kucsuk Pasha approach Paul Béldi and warmly press the right hand of the downcast Hungarian gentleman. "If you want two hundred and seventy purses I will give it; if you want as much again I will give it; as much as you want you shall have; bargain with them, fix your price; I am here. I will pay instead of you."

Feriz Beg rushed towards his father, and, full of emotion, hid his face in his bosom. Béldi majestically clasped the hand of the old hero, and was scarce able to find words to express his gratitude at this offer.

"I thank you, a thousand times I thank you, but I cannot accept it; that would be a debt I should never be able to repay, nor my descendants after me. Blessed are you for your good will, but you cannot help me that way."

Kiuprile intervened impatiently.

"Be sensible, Paul Béldi, and draw not upon thee my anger; weigh well thy words, and hearken to good counsel. To demand so much money from thee as a private man in exile would be a great folly, but assume that thou art a Prince, and that this amount, which it would be impossible to drag out of one pocket, could easily be distributed over a whole kingdom and not be felt. Do no more then than promise us the amount; it is not necessary that thou shouldst pay us before we have made thee Prince."

Béldi shuddered, and said to Kiuprile with a quavering voice:

"I do not understand you, sir, or else I have not heard properly what you said."

"Then understand me once for all. If it be true what thou sayest—to wit, that the present Prince of Transylvania rules amiss, why then, depose him from his Principality; and if it also be true what thou sayest—to wit, that thou dost love thy country so much and seest what ought to be done—why then, defend it thyself. I will send a message to the frontier Pashas, and they will immediately declare war upon this state, seize Master Michael Apafi and all his counsellors, clap them into the fortress of Jedikula, and put thee and thy comrades in their places. Thou art only to promise the Grand Vizier two hundred and seventy purses, and he will engage to make thee Prince as soon as possible, and then thou wilt be able to pay it; which, if thou dost refuse, of a truth I tell thee, that I will clap thee into Jedikula in the place of Michael Apafi."

The heart of Paul Béldi beat violently throughout this speech. His emotion was visible in his face, and more than once he would have interrupted Kiuprile if the Hungarian gentlemen had not restrained him. When, however, Kiuprile had finished his speech. Paul Béldi took a step forward, and proudly raising his head so that he seemed to be taller than usual, he replied in a firm, strong voice:

"I thank you, gracious sir, for your offer, but I cannot accept it. A sacred oath binds me to the present Prince of Transylvania, and if he has forgotten the oath which he swore to the nation it is no answer to say that we should also violate ours, nay, rather should we remind him of his. I have raised my head to ask for justice, not to pile one injustice upon another. Transylvania needs not a new Prince, but its old liberties; and if I had only wanted to make war upon the Prince, the country would rise at a sign from me, the whole of the Szeklers would draw their swords for me, but it was I who made them sheath their swords again. I do not come to the Porte for vengeance, but for judgment; not my own fate, but the fate of my country I submit to your Excellencies. I do not want the office of Prince. I do not want to drive out one usurper only to bring in a hundred more. I will not set all Transylvania in a blaze for the sake of roasting Master Michael Teleki, nor for the sake of freeing a dozen people from a shameful dungeon will I have ten thousand dragged into captivity. May I suffer injustice rather than all Transylvania. Accursed should I be, and all my posterity with me, if I were to sell my oppressed nation for a few pence and bring armies against my native land. As to your threats—I am prepared for anything, for prison, for death. I came to you for justice, slay me if you will."

Kiuprile, disgusted, flung himself back on his divan; he did not count upon such opposition, he was not prepared for such strength of mind. The other gentlemen who, from time to time, had fled to the Porte from Transylvania had been wont to beg and pray for the very favour which this man so nobly rejected.

The Grand Vizier, perceiving from the faces of those present the impression made on them by Béldi's speech, turned now to the right and now to the left for an explanation, and dismay gradually spread over his pallid face as he began to understand. Béldi's colleagues, pale and utterly crushed, awaited the result of his alarming reply; while Ladislaus Csaky, unable to restrain his dismay, rushed up to Béldi, flung himself on his neck in his despair, and implored him by heaven and earth to accept the offer of the Grand Vizier.

If the offer had been made to him he would most certainly have accepted it.

"Never, never," replied Béldi, as cold as marble.

The other gentlemen knelt down before him, and with clasped hands besought him not to make himself, his children, and themselves for ever miserable.

"Arise, I am not God!" said Béldi, turning from his tearful colleagues.

The Grand Vizier, on understanding what it was all about, leaped furiously from his place, and tearing off his turban, hurled it in uncontrollable rage to the ground, exclaiming with foaming mouth: "Hither, cavasses!"

"Put that accursed dog in chains!" he screeched, pointing with bloodshot eyes at Béldi, who quietly permitted them to load him with fetters weighing half-a-hundredweight each, which the army of slaves always had in readiness.

"Wouldst thou speak, puppy of a giaour?" cried the Vizier, when he was already chained.

"What I have said I stand to," solemnly replied the patriot, raising his chained hand to Heaven. "God is my refuge."

"To the dungeon with him!" yelled Kara Mustafa, beckoning to the drabants to drag Béldi away.

Just as a hard stone emits sparks when it is struck, so Béldi turned suddenly upon the Vizier and said, shaking his chains, "Thine hour will also strike!"

Then he suffered them to lead him away to prison.

Immediately afterwards, the Grand Vizier sent for the envoys of the Prince, and commending them and those who sent them, gave each of them a new caftan, and with the most gracious assurances sent them back to their native land, where nevertheless Master Farkas Bethlen had never been accounted a very great orator.

In the gates of the Seraglio the dismissed envoys encountered Master Ladislaus Csaky. The worthy gentleman at once perceived from their self-satisfied smiles and the new caftans they were wearing that they had been sent away with a favourable reply; whereupon, notwithstanding that he had already agreed with Paul Béldi to render homage to the French and German Ministers, he did not consider it superfluous to pay his court to Master Farkas Bethlen also, and offer to surrender himself body and soul if the Prince would agree to pardon him and restore his estates.

Farkas Bethlen accepted the proposal and not only promised Csaky an amnesty, but high office to boot if he would separate from Béldi; nay, he rewarded on the spot that gentleman who had thus very wisely fastened the threads of his fate to four several places at the same time, so that if one of them broke he could still hold on to the other three.

"Béldi has ruined his affairs utterly," said Kucsuk Pasha to his son, as they retired from the Diván; "I give up every idea of saving him."

"I don't," sighed Feriz. "I'll either save or perish with him."

"Let us go to Maurocordato, he may perhaps advise us."

After an hour's interview with Maurocordato, Feriz Beg, with fifty armed Albanian horsemen, took the road towards Grosswardein.

CHAPTER XXIII.
THE TURKISH DEATH.

"A truce to this piety, Zülfikar; ye renegades, with unendurable shamelessness, are always glorifying the Prophet, born Turks don't mention him half as much. What I ask thee is, where dost thou go a-plundering now of nights?"

"I thank thee, gracious sir," answered Zülfikar, making a wooden picture of his face, "my wife is quite well, and there is nothing amiss with me either."

"Zülfikar, I value in thee that peculiarity of thine which enables thee to become deaf whenever thou desirest it, but I possess a very good remedy for that evil, and if thou wilt I will cure thee of it."

Zülfikar dodged the lance which was turned in his direction, and said with a Pharisaical air:

"What does your honour deign to inquire of me?"

"Didst thou hear what I said to thee just now?"

"Dost thou mean: where I went robbing? I swear by the beard of the Prophet that I go nowhither for such a purpose."

"I know very well, thou cat, that thou goest nowhither where there is trouble, but thou dost ferret out where a fat booty lies hidden, and thou leadest our Spahis on the track of it, wherefore they give thee also a portion of it; so answer me at once whom thou art wont to visit at night, as otherwise I shall open a hole in thy head."

"But, sir, betray me not; for the Spahis would tie me to a horse's tail and the Pasha would impale me. Thou knowest that he does not allow robbery, but if it happens he looks through his fingers."

"So far from betraying thee I would go with thee, I only know one mode of getting hold of booty. While the others storm a village, I stand a little distance off at the farther end of the village; whoever has anything to save always makes for the farther end of the village, and so falls into my hands."

The renegade began to feel in his element.

"My good sir, at night the Spahis will go to Élesd. There dwell rich Wallachians away from the high road. They have never had blackmail levied on them and there's lots of gold and silver there; if we get a good haul, do not betray me."

"But may we not fall in with the soldiers of Ladislaus Székely?"

"Nay, sir," said Zülfikar, winking his eyes, "they are far from here. Do not betray thy faithful servant."

Feriz Beg put spurs to his horse and galloped off. Zülfikar sat down in the gate again, very sleepily blinking his eyes, and smiling mysteriously.

Towards evening four-and-twenty Spahis crept out of the fortress and made off in the direction of Élesd. Feriz Beg kept an eye upon them, and when they had disappeared in the woods he aroused his Albanian horsemen and quietly went after them.

It was past midnight when Feriz Beg and his company reached the hillside covering Élesd. The Spahis had already plundered the place as was evident from the distant uproar, the loud shrieks, the pealing of bells, and a couple of flaming haystacks which the mauraders had set on fire to assist their operations.

Feriz Beg posted his Albanian horsemen at the mouth of a narrow pass, divided them into four bands and ordered them all to remain as quiet as possible and wait patiently till the Spahis returned.

After some hours of plundering the distant tumult died away, and instead of it could be heard approaching a sound of loud wrangling. Presently, in the deep valley below, the Spahis became visible, staggering under the stolen goods, dispersed into twos and threes and quarrelling together over their booty.

Feriz Beg let them come into the narrow pass and when they were quite unsuspiciously at the height of their dispute, he suddenly blew his horn and then suddenly fell upon them from all sides with his Albanian horsemen, surrounded and attacked the marauders, and before they had had time to use their weapons began to cut them down. The tussle was a short one. Not one of the Albanians fell, not one of the Spahis escaped.

Feriz dried his sword and leaving the dead Spahis on the road, galloped back with his band to Grosswardein.

In the Pasha's gate he again encountered Zülfikar and, shaking his fist at him, dismounted from his horse.

"Thou dog! thou hast betrayed us to Ladislaus Székely; the Spahis have all been cut down."

Zülfikar turned yellow with fear. It is true that he usually did something like this: when the Spahis would only promise him a small portion of the booty, he would for a few ducats extra let the Hungarian generals know of their coming, when one or two of them would bite the dust and the rest return without the booty. Last night also he had told the captain of Klausenberg of this particular adventure, but the commandant had been unable to make any use of it, for it had been the Prince's birthday, and he had been obliged to treat the soldiers.

Zülfikar felt a lump in his throat when he heard that all twenty-four of the Spahis had perished, and he immediately quitted the fortress and made his way to Klausenberg through the woods as hard as he could pelt.

Feriz Beg, however, in great wrath, paid a visit upon the Pasha.

"Your Excellency," said he, assuming a very severe countenance, "this is the sort of allies we have. Last night I went on an excursion, taking four-and-twenty Spahis with me, in order to purchase horses for myself in the neighbourhood. We dealt honourably with the dealers. I entrusted the horses to the Spahis and myself galloped on in front. In a narrow pass the soldiers of Ladislaus Székely laid an ambush for the Spahis, surrounded them and cut them off to a man. When I came to their assistance there they were all lying slain and the slayers had trotted off on my own good steeds. Most gracious sir, that is treachery, our own allies do us a mischief. I will not put up with it, but if thou dost not give me complete satisfaction, I will go myself to Klausenberg and put every one of them to the sword, from Master Michael Apafi down to Master Ladislaus Székely."

Ajas Pasha, whose special favourite Feriz Beg was, laughed loudly at this demonstration, patted the youth's cheek, and said in a consolatory voice:

"Nay, my dear son, do not so, nor waste the fire of thy enthusiasm upon these infidels. I have a short method of doing these things—leave it to me."

And thereupon he sent for an aga, and gave him a command in the following terms:

"Sit on thy horse and go quickly to Klausenberg. There go to the commandant, Ladislaus Székely, and speak to him thus: Ajas Pasha wishes thee good-day, thou unbelieving giaour, and sends thee this message: Inasmuch as thy dog-headed servants during the night last past have treacherously fallen upon the men of Feriz Beg and cut down four-and-twenty of them, now therefore I require of thee to search for and send me instantly these murderers, otherwise the whole weight of my wrath shall descend upon thine own head. Moreover, in the place of the horses stolen from him, see that thou send to me without delay just as many good chargers of Wallachia, and beware lest I come for them myself, for then thou wilt have no cause to thank me."

When the aga had learnt the message by heart he withdrew, and Ajas Pasha turned to Feriz Beg complacently:

"Trouble not thyself further," said he, "in a couple of days the murderers will be here."

"I want the Prince to intercede for them himself," said Feriz Beg.

"And dost thou not believe then that the little finger of the Sublime Porte is able to give thee the lives of a few giaour hirelings, when it sends forth thousands to perish on the battle-field?"

"And I will venture to bet a hundred ducats that Master Ladislaus Székely will reply that his soldiers were not out of the fortress at all last night."

"I am sorry for thy hundred ducats, my dear son, but I will take thy bet all the same; and, if I lose, I will cut just as many pieces out of the skin of Master Ladislaus Székely."

The terrified Zülfikar was almost at his last gasp by the time he reached the courtyard of Master Ladislaus Székely, where, greatly exhausted, he obtained an audience of the commandant, who was resplendent in a great mantle trimmed with galloon and adorned with rubies and emeralds. This love of display was the good old gentleman's weak point. He had the most beautiful collection of precious stones in all Transylvania; the nearest way to his heart was to present him with a rare and beautiful jewel.

He was engaged in furbishing up a necklace of chrysoprases and jacinths with a hare's foot when the renegade breathlessly rushed through the door unable to utter a word for sheer weariness. Ladislaus Székely fancied that Zülfikar had come for the reward of his treachery, and very bluntly hastened to anticipate him.

"I was unable to make any use of your information, Zülfikar; it was the Prince's name-day, and the soldiers were not at liberty to leave the town."

"How can your honour say so," stuttered Zülfikar; "you had four-and-twenty Spahis cut down at Élesd. What fool told your honour to kill them? You should merely have deprived them of their booty."

Ladislaus Székely let fall his necklace in his fright and gazed at the renegade with big round eyes.

"Don't be a fool, Zülfikar, my son! Not a soul was outside this fortress to-day or yesterday."

"Your honour has been well taught what to say," said the renegade, with the insolence of fury; "you put on as innocent a face over the business as a new-born lamb."

"I swear to you I don't understand a word of your nonsense."

"Of course, of course! Capital! Excellent! But your honour would do well to keep these falsehoods for the messengers of Ajas Pasha, who will be with your honour immediately; try and fool them if you like, but don't fool me."

Ladislaus Székely, well aware that every word he said was the sacred truth, fancied that Zülfikar's assertion was only a rough joke which he wanted to play upon him, so he cast an angry look on the renegade.

"Be off, my son Zülfikar, and cease joking; or I'll beat you about the head with this hare's foot till I knock all the moonshine out of you."

"Your honour had best keep your hare's foot to yourself, for if I draw my Turkish dagger I'll make you carry your own head."

"Be off, be off, my son!" cried Székely, looking around for a stick, and perceiving a cane in the corner with a large silver knob he seized it. "And now are you going, or I shall come to you?" he added.

Zülfikar had just caught sight, meanwhile, through the window of the aga sent by Ajas Pasha, and fearing to encounter him, hastily skipped through the door, which sudden flight was attributed by Master Ladislaus Székely to his own threats of violence. He followed close upon the heels of the fugitive, and ran almost into the very arms of the aga; whereupon, the aga, also flying into a rage, belaboured the commandant with his fists, reviled his father, his mother, and his remotest ancestry, and only after that began to deliver the message of Ajas Pasha, which he enlarged and embellished with the choicest flowers of an angry man's rhetoric.

At these words Ladislaus Székely changed colour as often as a genuine opal, or as a fractured polyporus fungus. It was clear to him that someone or other had just slain a number of marauding Spahis, but he knew very well that neither he nor his men had performed this heroic deed, for that particular evening they had all been safe and sound at ten o'clock, and yet he was expected to pay the piper!

"Gracious sir, unconquerable aga," he said at last, "my men the whole of that evening were on duty beneath the windows of the Prince, and the same evening I myself closed the city gates, so that no living thing except a bird could get out. Therefore, I pray you ask not of me the slayers of the Spahis, for never in my life have I killed one of them."

The aga gnashed his teeth, and stared wildly about, as if seeking for big words worthy of the occasion.

"Darest thou say such things to me, thou wine-drinking infidel?" he cried at last. "I know very well that thou, single-handed, hast not cut down four-and-twenty Spahis; rather do I believe there were two thousand of you that fell upon them, but these thou must give up to me, every man-jack of them."

Large drops of perspiration began to ooze out upon the forehead of the commandant, and in his embarrassment it occurred to him that deeds were better than words, so he seized the chain covered with chrysoprases and jacinths, which he had just been polishing, and handed them in a deprecating manner to the Turk, knowing that such a line of defence was most likely to obtain a hearing.

But the envoy gave the chain handed to him such a kick that the precious stones were scattered all over the deal boards, and, trampling them beneath his feet, he roared with a blood-red face:

"I want the murderers, not your precious stones."

The commandant thereupon seeing that the aga's embassy was really a serious matter, took him down to the soldiers, who were drawn up in the courtyard, in order to ask each one of them in the hearing of the envoy: "Where were you during the night in question?" Naturally everyone of them was able to prove an alibi, not one of them could be suspected.

The aga very nearly had an overflow of gall. He said nothing, he only rolled his eyes; and when the last soldier had denied any share in the death of the Turks, he leaped upon his horse, and threatening them with his fist, growled through his gnashing teeth:

"Wait, ye also shall have your St. Demetrius' day!"21 and with that he galloped back to Grosswardein.

On his arrival he found Feriz Beg with the Pasha, and at once told his story, exaggerating the details to the uttermost.

"What did I tell thee?" said Feriz to the Pasha; "didn't I say they would send back the message that they had never quitted the town. I am sorry for your honour's hundred ducats."

At these words Ajas Pasha kicked over his chibouk and his saucer of sherbet, and in a hoarse, scarce intelligible voice, said to the aga:

"Be off this instant to Stambul as fast as thou canst. Tell the Grand Vizier what has happened, and say to him that if he does not give me the amplest satisfaction, I myself will go against these unbelieving devourers of unruminating beasts who have dared to send me such a message, and will destroy them, together with their strongholds; or else I will cast my sword to the ground, and tie a girdle round my loins, and go away and join the brotherhood of Iskender! Say that, and forget it not!"

Very soon one firman after another reached the Prince from Stambul, each one of which, with steadily rising wrath, demanded the extradition of the assassins of the Spahis. The Prince made inquiries and searched for them everywhere, but nobody could be found to take upon his shoulders this uncommitted deed of heroism.

The messages from the Porte assumed a more and more furious tone every day. In itself the death of four-and-twenty Spahis was no very serious stumbling-block, but what more than anything lashed the Turkish generals into a fury was the persistent refusal of the Prince to acknowledge the offence. Yet with the best will in the world he was unable to do anything else, for not a single person on whom suspicion might fall could he find throughout the Principality.

In those days the dungeons of Klausenburg were well filled with condemned robbers; in the past year alone no fewer than thirty incendiaries had been discovered who had resolved to fire all Transylvania.

One day the noble Martin Pók, the provost-marshal of the place, appeared before the robbers, and attracted the attention of the most evil-disposed of these cut-throats and incendiaries by shouting at them:

"You worthless gallows-dogs, which of you would like to be set free at any price?"

"I would! I would!" cried a whole lot of them.

"Bread is going to be dear, so we cannot waste it on the like of you, so Master Ladislaus Székely has determined that whoever of you would like to become Turks are to be handed over to our gracious master, Ajas Pasha, who will make some of you Janissaries, and send the rest to the isle of Samos; so whoever will be a Turk, let him speak."

Everyone of them wanted to be a Turk.

"Very well, you rascals, just attend to me! I must tell you what to say when you stand before the Pasha, for if you answer foolishly you will be bastinadoed. First of all he will ask you: 'Are you Master Ladislaus Székely's men?' You will answer: 'Yes, we are!' Then he will ask you: 'Were you at Élesd on a certain day?' And you must admit that you were. Finally, he will ask you if you met Feriz Beg there? You will admit everything, and then he will instantly release you from servitude. Do you understand?"

"Yes, yes!" roared the incendiaries; and dancing in their fetters they followed the provost-marshal upstairs, who turned his extraordinary small head back from time to time to smile at them, at the same time twisting the ends of his poor thin moustache with an air of crafty self-satisfaction.

One day two letters reached Grosswardein from Stambul. One of these letters was from Kucsuk Pasha to his son, the other was from the Sultan to Ajas Pasha.

The letter to Feriz Beg was as follows:

Feriz Beg understood the allusion, and went at once to the Pasha in the best of humours.

"Listen to what the omnipotent Sultan writes," said the Pasha, producing a parchment sealed with green wax, adorned below with the official signature of the Sultan, the so-called Tugra, which was not unlike a bird's-nest made of spiders'-webs.

Feriz Beg pressed the parchment to his forehead and his lips, and the further he read into it the more his face filled with surprise and joy.

"Dost thou believe now that we shall get the murderers?" asked Ajas Pasha triumphantly.

"Never!" said Feriz Beg, laughing aloud and beside himself with joy.

"What dost thou say?" growled the astonished Ajas; "but suppose we go for them ourselves?"

"Well!" said Feriz, perceiving that he had nearly betrayed himself, "in that case—yes." But he said to himself "Not then or ever; and Paul Béldi will be released, and Paul Béldi will become Prince, and his wife will be Princess Consort, and Aranka will be a Princess too, and we shall see each other again."

At that moment an aga entered the room and announced with a look of satisfaction:

"Master Ladislaus Székely has now sent the murderers."

Feriz Beg reeled backwards. The word "impossible" hung upon his lips, and he nearly let it escape. It was impossible.

"Let them come in!" said Ajas Pasha viciously. He would have preferred to carry out the Sultan's conditional command, seize the Principality, and conduct the campaign personally.

Feriz Beg fancied he was dreaming when he saw the forty or fifty selected rascals who, led by Martin Pók, drew up before Ajas Pasha; the rogues were dressed up as soldiers but thief, criminal, was written on the face of each one of them.

Master Martin Pók exhibited them to the Pasha and Feriz Beg, and very wisely stood aside from them. Feriz Beg clapped his hands together in astonishment. He knew better than anyone that these fellows had never seen the Spahis, and he waited to hear what they would say.

Ajas Pasha sat on his sofa with a countenance as cold as marble, and at a sign from him a file of Janissaries formed behind the backs of the rascals, who tried to look as pleasant and smiling as possible before the Pasha to gain his favour.

"Ye are Master Ladislaus Székely's men, eh?" inquired the Pasha of the false heroes.

"We are—at thy service, unconquerable Pasha," they replied with one voice, folding their hands across their breasts and bowing down to the very ground.

The Pasha beckoned to the Janissaries to come softly up behind each one of them.

"Ye were at Élesd at midnight on the day of St. Michael the Archangel, eh?" he asked again.

"We were indeed—at thy service invincible Pasha!" they repeated striking their knees with their foreheads.

Feriz Beg rent his clothes in his rage. He would have liked to have roared at them: "Ye lie, you rascals! You were not there at all!" but he was obliged to keep silence.

Ajas beckoned again to the Janissaries, and very nicely and quietly they drew their swords from their sheaths, and, grasping them firmly, concealed them behind their backs.

The Pasha put the third question to the robbers.

"Ye met Feriz Beg, eh?"

"Lie not!" cried Feriz furiously. "Look well at me! Have you ever seen me anywhere before? Did you ever meet me at Élesd?"

The interrogated, bowing to the earth, replied with the utmost devotion: "Yes—at your service, invincible Pasha and most valiant Beg!"

At that same instant the swords flashed in the hands of the Janissaries, and the heads of the robbers suddenly rolled at their feet.

"Oh, ye false knaves!" cried Feriz Beg, striking his forehead with his clenched fist.

Ajas Pasha turned coolly towards Martin Pók: "Greet thy master, and tell him from me that another time he must be quicker, and not make me angry.—As for thee, Feriz, my son, pay me back those hundred ducats!"

CHAPTER XXIV.
THE HOSTAGE.

"Dost thou not detain here the family of Paul Béldi?"

"Yes, sir; they brought the unfortunate creatures hither."

"I must have Paul Béldi's consort out of this prison for a fortnight, at the accomplishment of which time I will bring her back again."

The captain was thunderstruck.

"Sir," said he, "you are playing with my head."

"None will know, and in two weeks' time she will be here again."

"But if they discover it?"

"Have no fear of that. During that time I will leave in thy hands as a hostage my own son."

The young cavalier approached, threw back his mantle, and the captain recognised Feriz Beg. He fancied he was dreaming.

"Dost thou not suppose that I will bring back the woman for the sake of my son?"

"Do what you think well," said the commandant. "I owe you a life, I will now pay it back to you; follow me!"

The commandant led his visitors up a narrow corkscrew fortress into the corner tower, which was used as a dungeon for state prisoners. The circular windows were guarded by heavy iron bars, the heavy iron-plated oaken doors groaned upon their hinges, indicating thereby that they were very seldom opened.

"Why did you put them in this lonely place?" asked Kucsuk Pasha; "is there not some other prison in the town?"

"Don't blame me, sir; my orders were to lock the lady up securely, apart from her child, and in this tower are two adjacent chambers with a common window, and in one of them I have put the mother and in the other the child. I knew that they would not mind if they could speak to each other through the window, and press each other's hands, and even kiss each other through the bars."

"Thou art a true man, my good old fellow," said Kucsuk Pasha, patting the commandant's shoulder; while Feriz Beg warmly pressed his hand.

"Thou wouldst put me into just such another dungeon, eh?" he asked.

"There would be no need of that, good Feriz Beg; you should dwell in my apartments."

"But I would not have it so," said the youth, thinking with glowing cheeks of the fair Aranka who would thus be his next-door neighbour and fellow-prisoner.

At last the iron door of the prison was opened, the jailor remained outside, and the two Osmanlis entered. By the side of a rude oak table was sitting a lady in deep mourning in front of the narrow window, reading aloud from a large Bible with silver clasps; her children at the window of the other dungeon were listening devoutly to the Word of God.

When the men entered the woman started and looked up; the dim ray of light coming through the narrow window made her face appear still paler than it used to be; she looked up seriously, sadly—sorrow had lent a gentle gravity to the face that used to be so bright and gay.

Kucsuk Pasha approached, and taking the lady's soft transparent hand in his own, briefly introduced himself.

"I am Kucsuk Pasha, thy husband's most faithful friend in this world after thyself."

"I thank you for your visit; my husband has often mentioned your name. Do you perchance bring me any message from him?"

"He would have thee with him."

"Then I am free?" cried the lady, tremulous between joy and doubt.

"Rejoice not, lady; it is not in my power to give thee freedom, I only promise thee a brief interview with Paul Béldi, just time enough for thee to tell him how much thou hast suffered. He cannot come to thee, so thou must come to him. With me thou canst come most quickly, for the greatest part of the time we shall be travelling together."

"Will my children come with me?"

"They will remain here. But thou wilt see them again soon. Either thou wilt conquer Paul Béldi with thy tears, and melt his iron will, and then he will come back to Transylvania as Prince and every gate will be open before him; or else he will stand fast to his determination, and then thou wilt return to thy dungeon and he to his, and so you will both die in the dungeons of different realms. Now take leave of thy children and hasten. It depends upon thee whether they become princes and princesses or slaves for ever."

"And who will defend them, who will watch over them, who will pray with them while I am away?"

"Be not distressed. I will leave my own son here as a hostage while thou art away. Feriz will occupy thy dungeon, he will watch over thy children, and not let them be afraid. Hasten now and take leave of them."

Dame Béldi rushed to the round window. Loudly sobbing, she called her children one by one, and then embraced them all as best she could. The cold iron bars stood between her breast and theirs. The tears of their weeping faces could not dissolve them.

"Give this kiss to father!—And this kiss from me!—And this from me!" lisped the children, putting their little arms round their mother's neck through the bars.

"My child, my good Aranka!" said Dame Béldi to the girl, who being about fifteen or sixteen was the eldest of them all; "look after thy little brothers and sisters! And you, my good little lads, comfort Aranka. God bless you! God defend you! One more kiss, Aranka! And one more for you, little David?"

"Madame, time is passing, and Paul Béldi is waiting for thee to open his prison!" intervened Kucsuk Pasha, withdrawing Dame Béldi from the window of her children's prison, who thereupon turned her tear-stained face towards Feriz Beg, and in a passion of grief flung herself on the youth's neck, and said to him in a voice almost indistinguishable for her sobbing:

"Thou noble heart! promise me that thou wilt love my children when I am far away!"

"By Allah, I swear it!" exclaimed the youth, pressing to his bosom the poor woman who was half-fainting for sorrow, "I swear that I will love them for ever!"

Ah! there was one among them whom he had already loved for a long, long time.

"Hasten, lady!" urged the Pasha; "cast this mantle over thee, and place this turban on thy head that the guards may not recognise thee in the distance. The way is long, the time is short."

"God be with you, God be with you!" sobbed Dame Béldi, casting with tremulous hands hundreds of kisses towards her children, who waved their goodbyes to her from their window and then, violently repressing her emotion, she rushed from the dungeon.

Kucsuk Pasha pressed the hand of his son in silence, and left him in Dame Béldi's room.

The children kept on weeping behind their window.

The youth drew nearer to them.

"Weep not," he said cheerfully, "your mother will soon come again and bring your father with her, and then you will all rejoice together."

"Ah, but then they'll kill father!" sobbed one of the children timidly.

"So long as Feriz Beg can use his sword none shall touch Paul Béldi," cried the youth, with flashing eyes. "My sword and my father's will flash around him, his enemies will be my enemies. Fear not! when I get back my sword, I will win back his liberty with it."

"I thank you, I thank you," whispered a gentle voice overcome by emotion.

Feriz Beg recognised the silvery voice of Aranka, and the weeping blue eyes of the seraph face which regarded him, like Heaven after rain, flashed upon him a burning ray of gratitude which was to haunt him in his dreams and in his memory for ever.

Feriz felt his heart leap with a great joy. Pressing close up to the prison bars that he might get as close to the girl as possible he said to her with a tender voice:

"How happy I am now that we dwell together as neighbours in the same dungeon, but oh, how much happier shall we be when no doors are closed upon us? Let me then have a place beside thy hearth and within thy heart!"

The fair, sad girl, with a face full of foreboding, stretched through the bars of the dungeon a hand whiter than a lily, whiter than snow. Feriz Beg solemnly raised it to his lips and falling on his knees, in an outburst of sublime devotion touched his lips and his forehead with that beloved hand.

CHAPTER XXV.
THE HUSBAND.

"The whole town if you like."

"No, only Master Paul Béldi. It is all one to him whether he dies or remains a prisoner for life."

"I'll do it for two hundred ducats, if you pay me half in advance."

"I'll pay you, Zülfikar, but how will you get at him?"

"That's my affair, all you have to do is to get the money ready."

Accordingly Ladislaus Székely gave the earnest-money to the renegade, and the renegade went home and wrote a letter in the name of the Beglerleg of the following tenour: "Be assured that our affairs are in the best order, and we shall shortly gain our object."

He strewed over these lines a fine blue dust which was the strongest of poisons, calculating that whoever wanted to read the letter would first brush the dust off it, whereupon the fine dust would rise in the air, and the person reading the letter would inhale the dust and die.

After attaching the letter to his turban, he began prowling round the dungeon of Paul Béldi, awaiting an opportunity of worming his way into it.

Paul Béldi was sitting alone in the darkest corner of the dungeon of Jedikula. At his feet lay his faithful bloodhound, Körtövely, with his eyes fixed sadly on his master. Whenever his master slept the dog would sit up, never take his eyes off him, and begin growling at the lightest noise.

Béldi, with folded arms, was sitting on the stone bench to which he was chained. His face had grown terribly pale and as if turned to stone. The pale gleam of light which filtered through the narrow window and lit up his face, found there no trace of that weary longing which the dweller in prisons generally has for the sun's rays. The whole man, body and soul, was hardened into steel.

Suddenly the dog lying at his feet impatiently raised its sagacious head, and then with a whimper of joy ran towards the door; there it stood for a time merrily barking, and then ran back to its master and stood before him wagging its tail with one foot on his shoulder, whining and whimpering with such lively joy that one might almost have understood what it wanted to say.

"What's the matter? Good dog!" said Béldi, stroking the dog's head. "What is it? Nobody's coming to see me that can make you happy."

At that moment the key turned in the door of the dungeon and a group of men by the light of torches descended the steps and entered Béldi's prison; whereupon Körtövely quickly left his master and burrowing his way through the throng, began to yelp merrily over someone, and then rushing back to his master, planted his fore-paws on his breast and barked as if he would burst because he could not express more plainly the joy which his wonderful canine instinct had anticipated.

Béldi, perceiving among those who visited him the Grand Vizier, Kiuprile, and Maurocordato, ordered his dog to be quiet, and standing up before them, saluted them with a deep bow.

"Well, thou obstinate man!" said the Grand Vizier, "how long wilt thou torment thyself and offend the Sultan and thine own good friends? Wilt thou ever perceive that to sit on a stone bench in a damp dungeon is a very different thing to sitting on a princely throne?"

"The more I suffer," said Béldi, in a strangely calm voice, "the more reason I have to rejoice that my country does not suffer instead of me."

The Grand Vizier thereupon said something in Turkish which Maurocordato sadly interpreted: "The Grand Seignior informs thee that because of money thou hast been cast into prison, and only money can release thee; promise, therefore, two hundred and seventy purses, and thou shalt get the Principality to enable thee to pay it."

"I have told you my determination," said Béldi, "and I will not depart from it. I will not promise money to the detriment of my country. I will not lead an army against it, and I will not break my oath. These were and will be my words from which I can never depart."

"Never!" cried Kucsuk Pasha, pressing through the crowd. "Wilt thou not even now?"—and with that he led a pale female figure towards Béldi.

"My wife!" exclaimed the captive, and he gripped fast his chains lest he should collapse for joy, terror, and surprise.

The pale woman in mourning fell upon his bosom, her tears became his fetters.

Paul Béldi burst into tears, he fell back upon his stone bench, his very soul was shattered. He remained clinging upon his wife's neck, speechless, unable to utter a word, and the whining dog licked now the hand of his master and now the lady's hand.

"Let us turn aside," said Kucsuk Pasha; "let us leave them together"—and the Turks withdrew from the dungeon, leaving Paul Béldi alone with his wife.

"I fancied," said Dame Béldi when she was able to utter a word amidst her choking sobs. "I fancied I was suffering instead of you, and oh! you were suffering more than I."

"How did you come here?" asked Béldi, in a low stifled voice.

"Kucsuk Pasha left his son as a hostage in my stead."

"Worthy man! What useless sacrifices he is making for my sake. And my children?"

"They remain in the dungeon whither also I must return, if you will not accept the Sultan's offer."

"Have they taken away my girl Aranka also?" asked Béldi, with a heavy heart.

"Yes, they have taken her too, and if we are released we shall have no whither to go. They have taken everything of ours. The Bethlen property has become the prey of Farkas Bethlen; the Haromszeki estate is now in the hands of Clement Mikes, although it is not lawful to deprive a Székler of his lands, even for high-treason. Our castle at Bodola has been totally destroyed, our escutcheon has been torn to pieces, and your name has been recorded in the journals of the Diet as a traitor."

"Oh, ye men!" roared Béldi, shaking his chains in the bitterness of his anger; "if I were not Paul Béldi the wrath of God would descend upon your heads. But ah!—I love my country even if worms are gnawing it. Dry your eyes, my good wife! you see I am not weeping. What we suffer is the visitation of God upon us. I remain a Christian and a patriot. I leave my cause to God!"

"You will not accept the offer of the Sultan?" inquired Dame Béldi, approaching her husband with fear and despair in her eyes.

"Never!" replied Béldi, in a low voice.

The wife, with a loud scream, flung herself at the feet of her husband, and, seizing his knees in a convulsive embrace, begged and besought him: "You would send me back to my dungeon? You would separate me from you for ever? Never, never, not even in the hour of death, shall I see you again."

"Comfort yourself with the thought that you loved me, and were worthy of me, if you can suffer as I do and for the same reason."

"You would plunge your children into eternal captivity?"

"Tell them that their father lived honourably and died honourably, and teach them to live and die like him."

"Think of your girl, Aranka; your favourite, your dearest child."

"Rather may she fade away than Transylvania be plunged in the flames of war."

"Béldi! drive me not to despair!" cried the wife trembling violently. "I am afraid, horribly afraid, of my dungeon. Twice have I had fever from the close, damp air. There was none to care for me in my sickness; I was calling your name continually, and you were far from me; I saw your image, and was unable to embrace you. Oh, Béldi! I shall die without you! The most terrible form of death—despair—will kill me!"

Béldi knelt down by the side of his wife and embraced and kissed her. The woman fainted in his arms as the Turks entered his prison. Béldi beckoned Kucsuk Pasha to him. A sort of leaden, death-like hue had begun to spread over his face; he could scarce see with whom he was conversing. He laid his swooning wife in the arms of the Pasha, and stammered with barely intelligible words: "I thank you for your good will. Here is my wife—take her—back to her dungeon!"

The Turks, in speechless astonishment, lifted up the fainting woman, and left the dungeon without plaguing Béldi with any more questions.

Béldi stood stonily there as they went out, with open lips and a dull light in his eyes. When the last Turk had gone, and he saw his wife no longer, his head began to nod and droop down, and suddenly he fell prone upon the floor.

Körtövely, the old hound, began sorrowfully, bitterly, to whine.

At that moment Zülfikar entered the dungeon with the poisoned letter.

He was too late. Paul Béldi had already departed from this world.

When Ladislaus Székely heard of Béldi's death he gave a magnificent banquet, and when the company was at its merriest Zülfikar came rushing in.

"Come! out with those hundred ducats!" he whispered in the ear of Master Ladislaus Székely.

"What do you mean?" cried Székely in a voice flushed with wine. "Paul Béldi had a stroke; be content with what you have had already."

"Thou faithless dog of a giaour!" cried the renegade at the top of his voice so that everyone could hear him, "is this the way thou dost deceive me? Thou didst bargain with me for the death of Paul Béldi for two hundred ducats, and now thou wouldst beat me down by one half. Thou art a rogue meet for the hangman's hands. Is it thus thou dost treat an honest man? I'll not kill a man for thee another time until thou pay me in advance, thou faithless robber!"

The company laughed aloud at this scene, but Master Ladislaus Székely seemed very much put out by the joke. "What are you talking about, you crazy fellow?" said he. "Who asked you to do anything? I never saw you in my life before!"

"What!" cried Zülfikar. "I suppose thou wilt deny next that thou didst write this letter to Paul Béldi!" and with that he gave Ladislaus Székely the poisoned letter. He seized it, broke the seal, brushed away the dust, and ran his eye over it, whereupon he flung it at the feet of Zülfikar, exclaiming: "I never wrote that."

Then he beckoned to the servants to seize Zülfikar by the collar and pitch him into the street. But the renegade stood outside in front of the windows and began to curse Székely before the assembled crowd for not paying him the price of the poison.

Inside the house the guests laughed more heartily than ever, and at last Székely himself began to look upon the matter in the light of a joke, and laughed like the rest; but when he returned home to Transylvania he felt a pain in his stomach, and did not know what was the matter. He became deaf, could neither eat nor drink, and his bowels began to rot.

Nobody could cure him of his terrible malady, till at last he fell in with a German leech, who persuaded him that he could cure him with the dust of genuine diamonds and sapphires. Ladislaus Székely handed to the charlatan his collection of precious stones. He abstracted the stones from their settings, but ground up common stones instead of them in his medical mortar, and stampeded himself with the real stones, leaving Ladislaus Székely to die the terrible death by poison which he had intended for Paul Béldi.

Paul Béldi they buried in foreign soil; none visited his grave. Only his faithful dog sat beside it. For eight days it neither ate nor drank. On the ninth day it died on the deserted grave of its master.