dle, he swiftly seized her in his muscular grip, and pulled her right
on to his own saddle. The lady fainted away over his shoulder, and the
horse dashed wildly onwards.

CHAPTER XIV.

MARTYRDOM.

After this event Lady Karpathy was very seriously ill; for a long time
her life was even despaired of. Karpathy summoned the most famous
doctors in the world to attend to her, and they consulted and prescribed
for her, but none of them could tell what was the matter. It is a great
pity that nobody knows how to prescribe for the heart.

For a long time she was delirious, and talked a lot of nonsense, as sick
people generally do whose fevered brains are full of phantoms.

A soft smooth hand stroked her burning forehead from time to time. It
was the hand of Flora, who watched by the sick-bed night and day,
denying herself sleep, denying herself even the sight of her husband,
despite the terrifying suggestions of Dame Marion, who maintained that
Madame Karpathy was sickening for small-pox.

If that had been all the poor woman was suffering from, how little it
would have been!

At last Nature triumphed. A young constitution usually struggles more
severely with Death than an old one, and throws him off more quickly.
Fanny was delivered from death. When first she was able to look around
her with an unclouded mind, she perceived two persons sitting by her
side; one was Flora, the other--Teresa.

Though nothing in the world would have induced Teresa to call upon Fanny
as a visitor, the very first rumour of her severe illness brought her to
her side. She arrived on the very day when a change for the better had
set in, and relieved Flora by taking her turn in the nursing.

Nevertheless, Lady Szentirmay would not depart till she knew for certain
that her friend was out of danger, and therefore resolved to wait a few
days longer.

So Fanny regained life and consciousness; she no longer chattered oddly
and unintelligibly, but lay very still and quiet. She was cured, the
doctors said.

And now she could coldly review the whole course of her life. What was
he, what had she become now, and what would become of her in the future?

She was the scion of a wretched and shameful family, from whose fate she
had only been snatched by hands which, wont to lift themselves in prayer
to God, had shielded and defended her against every danger, and prepared
for her a peaceful and quiet refuge, where she might have lived like a
bird o