used to be parted from me."

The priest spoke in a tongue strange to the little boy, who consequently
understood not a word of what was said, but went on with his innocent
prattle and laughter.

"Comrades," resumed Diurbanu, addressing the group before him, "all this
is wide of the mark. We are in the midst of war, and in war-times the
soldier must go whither he is sent."

"Very well, Diurbanu," was the reply, "our soldiers will go whither they
are sent. The wind can direct the storm-cloud whither it shall go, but
cannot compel it to flash lightning and hurl thunderbolts at command."

"But I know one storm-cloud," rejoined Diurbanu, "that has not withheld
its thunderbolts."

"You mean Ciprianu and his men?"

"Yes."

"But Ciprianu and both his sons are now fallen."

"So much the better. He left a daughter who thirsts for revenge."

"Do you know her?"

"She is my sweetheart."

"And have you picked out the village whose destruction is to be her
bridal gift? Which one is it?"

"I have told you already,--Toroczko."

"But I say it shall be Torda!" cried a determined voice.

"I protest."

"Let us draw lots to decide it."

"Very well," assented Diurbanu, and, going to the altar on which stood
the flickering candles, he wrote a name on each of two cards and threw
the bits of pasteboard into his cap. "Now who will draw?" he asked; but
no one volunteered. "It must be an innocent hand that decides the fate
of these two towns," continued Diurbanu. "This little chap shall draw
for us."

"What, this innocent child decide which town shall be given over to fire
and blood and pillage!" exclaimed the priest. "An infernal contrivance
of yours, Diurbanu!"

But meantime the child had reached out a tiny hand and clutched at one
of the cards, which it handed to the priest.

"Bring me one of the candles," bade the latter.

But no candle was necessary, for even as he spoke a flash of lightning
penetrated to the remotest corner of the little church. The group of men
whose heads were bent over the bit of cardboard started and cried out
in concert:

"Toroczko!"

In the peal of thunder that followed the very ground shook under their
feet and the building rocked over their heads.

CHAPTER XXIII.

OLD SCORES.

The inhabitants of the doomed town were warned beforehand by a friendly
informer what was in store for them. For two months they knew that they
were standing over a mine which awaited only the proper mo