"Are you in your senses, leader? What are you going to do?"

"I am going to purge the Roumin nation of a set of ruthless murderers
and brigands. Miserable wretches; instead of glory, you have brought
dishonor and disgrace upon our arms wherever you have appeared. While
the brave fought on the field of battle, you slaughtered their wives
and children; while they risked their lives before the cannon's mouth
you attacked the house of the sleepers and robbed and massacred the
helpless and the innocent. Fall down on your knees and pray for your
souls, for the angel of death stands over you, to blot out your memory
from among the Roumin people!"

The last words were pronounced in a fearful tone. Numa was no longer
the cold unmoved statue he had hitherto appeared, he was like a fiery
genius of wrath, whose very breath was destruction.

The Wallachians fell upon their knees in silent awe, while the women
who had been standing outside, rushed shrieking down the rocks.

The Decurio drew a pistol from his breast, and approached the cask of
gunpowder.

With a fearful howl, they rushed upon him; the shriek of despair was
heard for an instant, then the terrible explosion which caused the
rocks to tremble, while the flames rose with a momentary flash amidst
clouds of dust and smoke, scaring the beasts of the forest, and
scattering stones and beams, and hundreds of dismembered limbs, far
through the valley, and over the houses of the terrified inhabitants!

When the smoke had dissipated, a heap of ruins stood in the place of
Numa's dwelling.

The sun rose and smiled upon the earth, which was strewed with the
last leaves of autumn, but where were those who had assembled at the
spring-time of the year?

The evening breezes whispered mournfully through the ruined walls, and
strewed the faded leaves upon eleven grassy mounds.

The pen trembles in my hand--my heart sickens at the recital of such
misery.

Would that I could believe it an imagination--the ghostly horror of a
fevered brain!

Would that I could bid my gentle readers check the falling tear or
tell them: "Start not with horror; it is but romance--the creation of
some fearful dream--let us awake and see it no more!"

FOOTNOTES TO _THIRTEEN AT TABLE_:

[1: There is a race of the Hungarians in the Carpath who, unlike the
Hungarians of the plain, have blue eyes and often fair hair.]

[2: Part of the free corps raised in 1848.]

[3: Blue and gold are the colors