f the powder.

"I'll tell you what, Decurio," he said, springing up, "we are only two
left, don't let us make food of each other; let us come to an
understanding on this matter."

"If you are tired of waiting, I can press the match lower."

"This is no jest, Numa; you are risking your own life. How can you
wish to send us both to hell for the sake of a pale girl? But I'll
tell you what--I'll give her up to you if you will only promise that
she shall be mine when you are tired of her."

"Remain here and win her--if you dare."

"To what purpose?" said the Wallachian, in a whining voice, and in his
impatience he began to tear his clothes and stamp with his feet, like
a petted child.

"What I have said stands good," said the Decurio; "whoever remains
longest has the sole right to the lady."

"Well, I will stay, of course; but what do I gain by it? I know you
will stay, too, and then the devil will have us both; and I speak not
only for myself when I say I do not wish that."

"If you do not wish it, you had better be gone."

"Well, I don't care--if you will give me a golden mark."

"Not the half; stay if you like it."

"Decurio, this is madness! The flame will reach the powder
immediately."

"I see it."

"Well, say a dollar."

"Not a whit."

"May the seventy-seven limited thunder-bolt strike you on St.
Michael's Day!" roared the Wallachian fiercely, as he rushed to the
door; but after he had gone out, he once more thrust his head in and
cried: "Will you give even a florin? I am not gone yet."

"Nor have I removed the match; you may come back." The Wallachian
slammed the door, and ran for his life, till exhausted and breathless
he sank under a tree, where he lay with his tunic over his head, and
his ears covered with his hands, only now and then raising his head
nervously, to listen for the awful explosion which was to blow up the
world.

Meanwhile Numa coolly removed the match, which was entirely burnt
down; and throwing it into the grate, he stepped over to the bed and
whispered into the young girl's ear: "You are free!"

Trembling, she raised herself in the bed and taking the Decurio's
large, sinewy hands within her own, she murmured: "Be merciful! O hear
my prayer, and kill me!"

The Decurio stroked the fair hair of the lovely suppliant.

"Poor child!" he replied gently; "you have nothing to fear; nobody
will hurt you now."

"You have saved me from these fearful people--now save me from
yours