rbanu.

"But you won't get out of here yourself in a hurry," returned the gipsy.
"Once in Diurbanu's hands, you might as well be in the hangman's.
Already he has put to death seven envoys who came to treat for peace,
and they were only St. George peasants. So what will he do to you who
are an Adorjan and wear a seal ring? But you've a breathing-spell yet.
The others served him as a little relish before dinner; you are to be
kept for dessert. One drinks a glass of spirits at a gulp, but black
coffee is to be sipped and enjoyed. I know this Diurbanu well, and
you'll know him, too, before he's through with you. I'll bet you my
fiddle, Manasseh, you won't live to see another day; but it serves you
right! You could handle three such men as Diurbanu in a fair fight; yet,
instead of meeting him on the battle-field, you walk right into his
clutches and let him bind you fast--like Christ on the cross."

"Take not that name in vain, you rogue!" commanded Manasseh, sternly,
"or I'll let you feel the weight of my foot."

"Kick me if you wish to," returned the vagrant, imperturbably; "but,
all the same, if I had been Christ I wouldn't have chosen a miserable
donkey to ride on, but would have sent for the best horse out of Baron
Wesselenyi's stud; and as soon as I had the nag between my legs, I would
have snapped my fingers at old Pontius Pilate."

The gipsy's eloquence was here interrupted by the sound of a key turning
in the outer door of the cellar.

"They're coming!" cried the fiddler; "and I sha'n't get your
cigar-stump, Manasseh. They'll take me out first."

Through the hole above the iron door a reddish light could now be seen.
Presently the iron door itself was opened, and two men, bearing
pitch-pine torches, entered, and then stood one on each side of the
door. Diurbanu came last, dressed in the costume of a Wallachian
military commander, his face flushed with wine and evil passions, and
his long hair falling over his shoulders. Despite his disguise, Manasseh
recognised him at once. He saw that the gipsy's words had conveyed no
idle warning. The man before him was none other than Benjamin Vajdar.
Yet the prisoner lost nothing of his composure, but with head erect and
unflinching gaze faced his deadly enemy.

"Well, Manasseh Adorjan," began the other, "you asked to see me, and
here I am. Do you know me now?"

"You are called Diurbanu," replied Manasseh, coldly.

"And don't you know another name for me? Don't I remin