he placed the heaviest, coach on one end of the costly cord, and
then throwing the other out of the window, and entrusting herself to
the merciful care of the holy Virgin, the brave daughter of Hunniades
successfully dropped down into the garden below.

She stopped to breathe, and to revel in her emancipated existence. It
was a bold enterprise gallantly achieved. But the danger had now only
commenced. She found that she had alighted at the back of the castle.
She stole along upon tip-toe, timid as a fawn. She remembered a small
wicket-gate that led into the open country. She arrived at the gate. It
was of course guarded. The single sentinel was kneeling before an image
of St. George, beside him was an empty drinking-cup and an exhausted
wineskin.

"Holy Saint!" exclaimed the pious sentinel, "preserve us from all
Turkish infidels!" Iduna stole behind him. "Shall men who drink no wine
conquer true Christians!" continued the sentinel. Iduna placed her hand
upon the lock. "We thank thee for our good vintage," said the sentinel.
Iduna opened the gate with the noiseless touch which a feminine finger
can alone command. "And for the rise of the Lord Iskander!" added the
sentinel. Iduna escaped!

Now she indeed was free. Swiftly she ran over the wide plain. She hoped
to reach some town or village before her escape could be discovered, and
she hurried on for three hours without resting. She came to a beautiful
grove of olive-trees that spread in extensive ramifications about the
plain. And through this beautiful grove of olive-trees her path seemed
to lead. So she entered and advanced. And when she had journeyed for
about a mile, she came to an open and very verdant piece of ground,
which was, as it were, the heart of the grove. In its centre rose a fair
and antique structure of white marble, shrouding from the noon-day sun
the perennial flow of a very famous fountain. It was near midnight.
Iduna was wearied, and she sat down upon the steps of the fountain for
rest. And while she was musing over all the strange adventures of her
life, she heard a rustling in the wood, and being alarmed, she rose and
hid herself behind a tree.

And while she stood there, with palpitating heart, the figure of a man
advanced to the fountain from an opposite direction of the grove. He
went up the steps, and looked down upon the spring as if he were about
to drink, but instead of doing that, he drew his scimitar, and plunged
it into the water, and