of the sun through the holes the bullets
had made.

"Is that sunset?" whispered the girl.

"No, my child, it is sunrise."

"I thought it was evening already."

Topandy opened one shutter that Czipra might see the morning light of
the sun.

Then he returned to the sick girl, whose face burned with fever.

"Lorand will be here immediately," he assured her gently.

"I shall soon be far away," sighed the girl with burning lips.

It seemed so long till Lorand returned!

The girl asked no more questions about him: but she was alert at the
opening of every door or rattling of carriages in the street, and each
time became utterly despondent, when it was not he after all.

How late he was!

Yet Lorand had come as quickly as four fleet-footed steeds could gallop.

Fever made the girl's imagination more irritable.

"If some misfortune should befall him on the way? If he should meet the
defeated robbers? If he should be upset on one of the rickety bridges?"

Pictures of horror followed each other in quick succession in her
feverish brain. She trembled for Lorand.

Then it occurred to her that he could defend himself against terrors.
Why, he knew how to pray.

She clasped her hands across her breast and closed her eyes.

As she said "Amen" to herself she heard the rattling of wheels in the
courtyard, and then the well-known steps approaching along the corridor.

What a relief that was!

She felt that her prayer had been heard. How happy are those who believe
in it!

The door opened and the youth she worshipped stepped in, hastening to
her bed and taking her hand.

"You see, I was lucky: I found him on the road. That is a good sign."

Czipra smiled.

Her eyes seemed to ask him, "Nothing has happened to you?"

The surgeon examined the wound, bandaged it and told the girl to be
quiet, not to move or talk much.

"Is there any hope?" asked Lorand in a whisper.

"God and nature may help."

The doctor had to leave to look after the wounded robbers. Lorand and
his uncle remained beside Czipra.

Lorand sat on the side of her bed and held her hand in his. The doctor
had brought some cooling draught for her, which he gave the sufferer
himself.

How Czipra blessed the knife that had given her that wound!

She alone knew how far it had penetrated.

The others thought such a narrow little wound was not enough to cut a
life in two.

Topandy was writing a letter on Lorand's writing-table: and when asked
"t