losseum," was Blanka's encouraging rejoinder.

"That was Rome, this is Toroczko. I could hit my sweetheart's likeness;
my mother's is beyond me."

Nevertheless he was determined to try his hand; so the others left him
at work and went on to view the curiosities of the Szekler Stone.

"Take good care of my wife," Manasseh called to his brother, "and don't
let her fall over any precipice."

"Never fear," Aaron shouted back. "The whole Szekler Stone shall fall
first."

"Promise not to take Blanka and Anna up Hidas Peak."

"I promise."

"On your honour as a Szekler and a Unitarian?"

"On my honour as a Szekler and a Unitarian."

With that Manasseh let them go their way. But in the midst of his
sketching it occurred to him that Aaron had only promised not to "take"
the ladies up Hidas Peak, which might mean that he would not carry them
up, but was at liberty to lead them; for Aaron was full of all such
quips and quibbles as that. Manasseh closed his portfolio, picked up his
things, and followed the path taken by the others.

Yet there was no mischievous intent in Aaron's mind. He conducted Anna
and Blanka to the verge of the gorge that separates the so-called Hidas
Peak of the Szekler Stone from the Louis Peak. This ravine is a deep
cutting, down which a steep, breakneck path leads directly to Toroczko,
but is very seldom used. On the farther side of the gorge may be seen a
cave in the rocks, popularly known as Csegez Cave. A rude stone rampart
guards its mouth, and, as only a very narrow path along the brink of
the precipice leads to this cavern, it could be easily held against an
assault.

On the summit of Hidas Peak was planted a bundle of straw, which was
visible from a considerable distance, and served as a warning not to
ascend. Was it meant as a protection to the single fir-tree left
standing there in lonely majesty, or to deter hay-thieves from cutting
the grass that grew there? Perhaps it was a friendly caution to
sightseers not to hazard the ascent, as it might cost them their lives.

The two young women recognised at once the inadvisability of their
attempting this dangerous climb, but to Aaron the ascent was mere sport.
He had often been up there before. Promising his companions that, if
they would be on their good behaviour, and not stir from the spot, he
would climb the rocky height, blow a blast on his horn that should awake
the echoes, and bring them back a twig from the solitary fir-tree, he
l