last night."

"Imre!" exclaimed the girl, starting. "You have seen him, then?--oh!
where is he?"

The Decurio hesitated. "He should not have delayed so long," he
murmured, pressing his hand against his brow; "all would have been
otherwise."

"Oh! let me go to him, if you know where he is."

"I do not know; but I am certain that he will come here if he is
alive--indeed, he must come."

"Why do you think that?"

"Because he will seek you."

"Did he then speak--before you?"

"As he lay wounded on that couch, he pronounced your name in his
dreams. Are you not that Jolanka Bardy whom they call 'The angel'? I
knew you by your golden locks."

The young girl cast down her eyes. "Then you think he will come?" she
said in a low voice. "And my relations?"

"He will come as soon as possible; and now you must take some food and
rest. Do not think about your relations now; they are all in a safe
place--nobody can hurt them more."

The Decurio brought some refreshment, laid a small prayer-book on the
pillow, and left the orphan by herself.

The poor girl opened the prayer-book, and her tears fell like
rain-drops on the blessed page; but, overcome by the fatigue and
terror she had undergone, her head ere long sank gently back, and she
slept calmly and sweetly the sleep of exhausted innocence.

As evening closed, the Decurio returned; and, softly approaching the
bed, looked long and earnestly at the fair sleeper's face, until two
large tears stood unconsciously in his eyes.

The Roumin hastily brushed away the unwonted moisture; and as if
afraid of the feeling which had stolen into his breast, he hastened
from the room, and laid himself upon his woollen rug before the open
door.

* * * * *

The deserted castle still burned on, shedding a ghastly light on the
surrounding landscape, while the deepest silence reigned around, only
broken now and then by an expiring groan, or the hoarse song of a
drunken reveller.

Day was beginning to dawn, as a troop of horsemen galloped furiously
towards the castle from the direction of Kolozsvar.

They were Imre and his comrades.

Silently and anxiously they pursued their course, their eyes fixed
upon one point, as they seemed to fly rather than gallop along the
road.

"We are too late!" exclaimed one of the party at last, pointing to a
dim red smoke against the horizon; "your castle is burning!"

Without returning an answer, Imre spurred his p