hat 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 limbed thunderbolt 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 in the young girl's ear: "You are free!"

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

The Decurio stroked the fair head 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
yourself!"

"You have nothing to fear from me," replied the Dacian proudly; "I
fight for liberty alone, and you may rest as securely within my
threshold as on the steps of the altar. When I am absent you need have
no anxiety, for these walls are impregnable; and if any one should
dare offend you by the slightest look, that moment shall be the last
of his mortal career. And when I am at home you have nothing to fear,
for woman's image never dwelt within my heart. Accept my poor couch,
and may your rest be sweet!--Imre Bardy slept on it