posture
he remained for some time afterwards, not daring to raise his head
until the Decurio's steps had died away.

As Numa entered the house, the lovers hastened to meet him. For an
instant or two he stood at the threshold, regarding the young man
with a look of silent reproach. "Why did you come so late?" he asked.

Imre held out his hand, but the Decurio did not accept it.

"The blood of your family is on my hand," he whispered. "You have let
dishonour come on me, and mourning on yourself."

The young man's head sank on his breast in silent anguish.

"Take his hand," said Jolanka, in her low, sweet accents; and then,
turning to Imre, "He saved your life--he saved us both, and he will
rescue our family too."

Imre looked at her in astonishment.

The Decurio seized his arm, and drew him aside. "She does not know
that they are dead," he whispered; "she was not with them, and knows
nothing of their fate; and I have consoled her with the idea that they
are all prisoners. She must never know the horrors of that fearful
night."

"But sooner or later she will hear it."

"Never! you must leave the place and the kingdom. You must go to
Turkey."

"My way lies towards Hungary."

"You must not think of it. Evil days await that country; your prophets
do not see them, but I know, and see them clearly. Go to Turkey; I
will give you letters by which you may pass in security through
Wallachia and Moldavia; and here is a purse of gold--do not scruple to
accept it, for it is your own, it belonged to _them_. Promise me, for
her sake," he continued earnestly, pointing to Jolanka, "that you will
not go to Hungary."

Imre hesitated. "I cannot promise what I am not sure I shall fulfil;
but I shall remember your advice."

Numa took the hands of the two lovers, and, gazing long and earnestly
on their faces, he said, in a voice of deep feeling, "You love one
another?"

They pressed his hand in silence.

"You will be happy--you will forget your misfortunes: God bless and
guide you on your way! Take these letters, and keep the direct road to
Brasso,[25] by the Saxon-land.[26] You will find free passage
everywhere, and never look behind until the last pinnacles of the
snowy mountains are beyond your sight. Go! we will not take leave, not
a word--let us forget each other!"

[Footnote 25: Brasso, or Kronstadt, a town in the south-east of
Transylvania, on the frontiers of Wallachia.]

[Footnote 26: A district inhabited by a