.

"Now, my lord, we can go," he said.

"Surely you are not going like a peasant, without a sword," said the
Turk. "Gird on your sword, and tell your wife that she has nothing to
fear."

Apafi went back into the room, and as he took down his heavy
silver-mounted sword from the wall above the bed, he said to his wife,
consolingly, "See, sweetheart, there cannot be anything disagreeable
to expect, or I should not have been told to buckle on my sword. Trust
in God."

"I do, I do trust in Him," said his wife, still kissing her husband's
hand passionately and pressing him to her heart; then she began to
weep bitterly,--"Apafi, if I die, do not forget me."

"Oh!" cried Apafi. He tore himself with bitter feelings from the
embrace of his wife, and wished all the Turks born and unborn at the
bottom of the sea. Then he jumped into the wagon, looking neither to
heaven nor earth, but struggling all the way with a single
thought--that it had not been allowed him to leave his wife when she
had happened to fall asleep.

Hardly were they an hour away from Ebesfalva when the Turks caught
sight of a rider at full speed, who was evidently trying to overtake
them. They called Apafi's attention to it. At first he would not
listen to them, but when told that the rider came from the direction
of Ebesfalva he ordered the wagon to stop and waited for the
messenger. It was Andy who, waving his handkerchief, came galloping
toward them.

"What has happened, Andy?" called out his master with beating heart,
while his servant was still at a distance.

"Good news, master," shouted Andy, "our most gracious lady has a son
and she herself is out of all danger--God be praised!"

"Blessed be the name of the Lord," cried Apafi, with lightened heart,
and sent the messenger back. As soon as this chief cause of his
anxiety had vanished all his other troubles disappeared. He thought of
his son and in the glow of this thought began to believe that his
Turkish attendants were as good, respectable, civilized people as he
had ever seen. Late at night they reached the tent of Ali Pasha. The
sentinels were sleeping like badgers; as far as they were concerned
one might have carried off the whole camp. Apafi had to wait before
the tent of the Pasha until he had dressed himself, when drawing aside
the curtains, the Pasha bade him enter. There sat Ali with crossed
legs on a rug at the back of the tent, and behind him two finely-clad
Moors. On the rug that fo