Front matter (continued 6)

I pointed out that he was probably alarming himself without reason, as the Austrians were not likely to do more than put him in prison for a few months.

Batori shook his head.

"You're wrong there, captain," cried he. "The count and I row in the same boat, and capture means death. We are to be strung up to the nearest tree or beam capable of bearing our weight by those who catch us. The very notion of it puts the count into a flutter."

Now I had once thought Count Beula a coward, and had been obliged to own my mistake; yet at this talk of Austrian vengeance his face became white, and he trembled like a leaf. He tried to laugh it off, saying that Görgei was in the right of it, surrendering to the Russians.

"He would have done a sharper thing by slipping into Turkey with Kossuth and his friends," I made answer.

"There you are," exclaimed our bandit friend. "That's what lost the war before it began. Two sets of leaders, and two objects to fight for; why, it's worse than having two captains over one band. However, it's done now, and not worth quarrelling about. We have to save our heads--a far more important matter."

"I am going to look for Colonel Rakoczy in the morning."

"Are you? Well, excuse the plain speech, captain--you're a fool. The exercise of my profession has made me acquainted with this part of the country, and even I could not venture a mile southward without being captured. The Austrians are stopping every pass and blocking every hole; they think Kossuth is still in the district. Why, but for me, our friend here would at this very moment be swinging in the wind, and, at the best, we half foundered our horses in getting him away. However, they are recovering, and to-morrow night will see us safe. You'd better join us, and wait your chance."

"You may spare your breath," sneered Count Beula. "He'll go his own way in the end. He comes of an obstinate race."

"Well, well, we'll give him the chance to ride with us," replied Batori. "If he prefers being killed, that's his affair. Now I'm going to sleep for an hour, and advise you to do the same."

He lay down in a corner of the room, pulled his cloak round him, and in less than two minutes was sleeping soundly.

"Behold!" exclaimed the count, laughing in his detestable manner, "the beauty of possessing an easy conscience."

I made no reply, being engaged in wrapping myself up; and apparently no reply was expected.

The count was evidently in a state of great anxiety, and several times during our brief rest wakened me by passing into the next room, as if he went to see that all was right.

I could not understand the man. He was so different from the Count Beula who had displayed such gallantry at the storming of Buda. In the breach no danger had unnerved him; here he blenched at the hint of it, and I attributed the difference to his dread of being hanged.

However, in spite of his restlessness, I managed at last to fall into a sound sleep, and was dreaming that Rakoczy and I were safe at Gyula, when some one pulled me roughly to my feet.

The candles had burned out, but the dawn was stealing through the one little window, and by its light I recognized Batori Gabor. His face was flushed and excited; he had put on his cap and cuirass, had buckled on his sword, and was equally ready to fight or fly.

"Quick!" cried he, not in panic, but in such tones as you might expect from a man accustomed to carry his life in his hands. "To the stables! The Austrians are out!"

I looked for the count. He had already disappeared.

Picking up my mantle, I ran into the kitchen. It was empty, save for the frightened innkeeper and his wife, who stood half-dressed, wringing their hands and shivering.

I was rushing to the door when the man, as if in desperation, seized a piece of rope which lay in the corner and flung himself before me.

Thinking he meant mischief, I touched my sword; but his action was the effect of fear.

"My lord," he cried, "we shall be murdered. Have mercy, for the sake of Heaven, and bind us. Then they will know that we harboured the 'poor lads' unwillingly."

"You have a kind face, my sweet master," added the trembling woman; "may your heart match it."

I thought the proposed stratagem a clumsy one; but the poor people were in such deadly earnest that I took the rope and proceeded to tie the woman.

In the midst of it the door was flung open violently, and quick as thought I drew my pistol and covered the intruder.

It was the outlaw, who had come to seek me.

"Well," cried he; "of all the fools!" Then, checking himself, he got another coil of rope and bound the inn-keeper deftly.

"One makes more," said he, finishing as soon as I. "Come on. There's no time for philanthropy. The men are howling with impatience, and Count Beula's nearly off his head."

The band was mounted, and one of them at his leader's command had saddled my horse.

They looked a rough set with their lances and loaded axes and lassos, which they carried before them on their saddles.

The chief sprang into his seat; I followed suit, and off we went--Count Beula well to the fore.

I looked down the road, expecting to see the Austrians; but, thanks to Batori's sentries, we had fully two minutes' start before they appeared.

There were perhaps fifty of them, and they rode like men secure of their prey; but our horses were fresh, and, being all picked animals, easily increased their lead.

A pistol shot or two came singing after us, but without doing mischief, and Batori laughed derisively at the enemy's efforts.

"Take it easy, my lads," he shouted. "Those old screws wouldn't catch us between this and Debreczin, if we walked all the way."

This, of course, was not exactly correct; but there could be little doubt that, by putting our animals to their utmost speed, we could shake off our pursuers at almost any time.

Even Beula noticed this, and, though his face was still pale, he dropped back to us.

"Another miss of the halter, count," cried the brigand cheerfully; "you're in luck's way. But I'll tell you what it is--you set my men a very bad example;" and I fancied there was a note of anger in his voice.

The count shook off his strange fear for a moment, saying with some of his old jauntiness, "They are more familiar with the noose than I."

"Bah!" cried the robber in disgust; "if you had not gained praise from Bern, I should say you were a rank coward."

"As a bandit, perhaps I am," he replied; a remark at which Batori, instead of showing anger, only laughed.

That Count Beula could on occasion be brave as a lion I already knew, and he was yet to give me another proof.

We were, as I have said, distancing the cavalry in our rear, when a loud shout proclaimed a new and more serious danger.

The Austrians, by dividing their forces, had cleverly placed us between two fires.

A second body, instead of entering the village, had worked round to the right, and now debouched into the road in front of us; while their comrades, who had purposely held their horses back, dashed up at full speed.

The robber chief took in the situation at a glance.

"Trapped!" said he; "and in the very worst place. Smart fellow, that Austrian."

At the certainty of a desperate fight Count Beula lost his paleness. His face glowed with healthy excitement; he looked round on the band of brigands as if he were leading a regiment.

At the first sight of the enemy we had, almost without thinking, slackened our pace, and now Batori halted us altogether.

Riding to the front, he turned to his men.

"My lads," said he, "we're in a hole; but it isn't the first. You know what happens on these occasions. Those who get out will ride with me again; those who don't--" And he concluded with a pantomimic gesture which made Beula shudder.

"Elijen Batori!" shouted the bandits, and their leader smiled.

The Austrians in the rear were spurring hard; but we took no notice of them, our attention being fixed on those in front. Could we break them?

I had taken part in more than one cavalry charge against long odds, and to me the feat seemed impossible.

Batori, however, showed little anxiety; while his men were almost as cool as he was.

Sword in hand, Count Beula took his place on the right of the leader; I rode at his left.

There were no unnecessary orders. Every man knew he had to pierce that body of cavalry somehow, or be hanged to the nearest tree; and if the knowledge did not bring true courage, it at least sent every one into the fight with a determination to get through.

The bandits couched their lances, and dug their spurs deeply into the horses' sides. Batori, who was evidently a superb horseman, rode without using the reins, having a sword in one hand and a loaded pistol in the other.

The Austrians bided their time; and, as we drew nearer, it flashed into my mind that their leader, who, but for a terrible scar across his face, would have been a handsome man, was none other than my old opponent, Von Theyer.

There was likely to be a very short shrift for me if I fell into his hands; and, unfortunately, my uniform rendered me conspicuous. However, I had little time to think about what might happen; I was too much engaged in what was happening.

Count Beula struck the enemy first, and, but for a shot from Batori's pistol, that moment would have ended his career. I wished later it had.

Crash we went into the midst of them, the long lances boring a passage for their owners.

Von Theyer made a dash at me, but was thrown back; and we did not get within sword-arm of each other during the fight.

Still, I had ample work without troubling the Austrian leader, as several hussars, attracted no doubt by my uniform, made a desperate attempt to hem me in.

A loud cry announced that one man had got through.

It was Batori; but he dashed back into the mêlée in order to rescue a wounded follower.

His men, raised to the highest pitch of enthusiasm by this sight, shook their opponents off and spurred to the spot.

A young Austrian officer--a sublieutenant, I judged--rode at me furiously, leaving me barely time to parry his stroke.

Turning, he came again, when a terrific blow from a loaded hatchet brought his horse to the ground--dead.

The youngster scrambled to his feet and attacked his new enemy; but the bandit pushed on to join his leader, and I followed with Count Beula.

We two were the last to leave the press, and the Austrians were hot on our heels.

Von Theyer led the van, though he had been badly wounded, and his face was covered with blood.

Now that the brunt of the fight was over, my companion seemed again to fall under the spell of his strange fear, being blind to everything except escaping.

He spurred his horse cruelly, until the animal, maddened by pain, darted ahead, and I was left alone.

Von Theyer, yards in advance of his hussars, galloped on; and I heard him shouting, but could not distinguish the words.

Fortunately, my pistols were still loaded, and, drawing one from the holster, I turned in my saddle and fired.

Von Theyer was not hit; but his gallant horse, staggering forward a dozen paces, reeled and fell.

The hussars stayed to extricate their leader, and the delay gave me a little breathing space.

Once again I wheeled and rode on in pursuit of Count Beula, while a shot from a carbine whistled past my head.

Two others followed in quick succession, doing no harm--at least, that was my impression.

Rather strangely though, it appeared to me that the count was slackening speed, and soon I became certain of it.

The distance between us decreased. I was catching him up hand over hand; the thing was amazing.

I hoped at first his manhood had come back to him, and that he waited purposely for me; but soon I recognized the truth.

One of the shots intended for me had struck his horse in the haunches, and the poor animal, losing blood at every stride, was growing feebler each succeeding moment.

The bandits--at least those who survived--were a little ahead of us; the pursuers were closing up again; my companion was doomed.

He knew it too. His face had become ashy grey, his eyes were wild and staring; the Count Beula of the breach and the battlefield had disappeared.

"They will hang me, Botskay," he wailed--"hang me like a common thief on the roadside."

The terror of the hempen noose, about which Batori had chaffed him, had affected his brain--upset his balance, so to speak. I can give no other explanation of his strange behaviour or of what happened immediately afterwards.

Batori, looking back, waved his arm to bid us ride faster; but Beula's horse was totally exhausted, and with one last ineffectual stagger forward it rolled over, entangling its rider in the reins.

A shout from the Austrians greeted this downfall, and the count's white face looked up appealingly.

"They will hang me, Botskay!" he cried, and I regarded the cry as one for help.

The Austrians were close upon us. There was barely time even to set him free; and what then?

Was I to die because the man I hated asked an impossible thing?

It was monstrous; it was out of all reason. I would push on and save my own life. Count Beula had no claim on me.

The struggle was keen and full of bitter anguish, but it was over in a second; the next I had slipped to the ground and was tugging at the fallen man.

CHAPTER XXIV.

THE END OF COUNT BEULA.

You who have read my story know that from the very beginning I disliked this Count Beula; and the death of my gallant brother, which rightly or wrongly I laid at his door, changed my dislike into downright hatred.

Yet throughout this narrative I have, I trust, never shown myself unfair to him. I have told freely how Bern, himself the most reckless of fighters, had praised his courage, and in my account of the storming of Buda I made no attempt to hide his gallantry. Even in this last fight I have mentioned how bravely he rode at the Austrian hussars, and how the glow of health had returned to his cheeks as he bared his weapon for the fray.

No, I am fully persuaded in my own mind that Count Beula did not fear death, but only the manner of it.

Leading or repelling a desperate charge, cheering his men to the deadly breach, or hurling the enemy from the ramparts of an assaulted town, he would have met death cheerfully and without flinching.

Here, on this lonely road, he was not even a soldier. The Austrians regarded him merely as a plotter, an accomplice of the conspirators in Vienna, an instigator of Count Latour's murder, the boon companion of a brigand whose life was forfeit even to Hungarian laws.

Thus the fiat had gone forth that Count Beula, the representative of a noble family, the head of a house celebrated long before the days of Arpad, was to be taken and hanged straightway like the vilest malefactor in the land.

The very thought of this terrible disgrace had, as he admitted, unnerved him; its imminent approach drove him crazy. This, I am fully convinced, was the real reason for his astounding conduct.

The robbers were by this time too far off to render any aid, though several glanced over their shoulders to see what was happening. The hussars had got very close to us.

My horse quivered with excitement, but did not move while I, after several attempts, set the count free.

Exactly what was to be done I had not determined, though it occurred to me that my animal must carry double, or that while Beula rode I must hang on by the stirrups.

In either case, no doubt, I should have been killed or taken prisoner; but the count solved the difficulty in his own way. He looked a strange object as he sprang to his feet. Blood from a wound in the head trickled down his ashy-grey cheeks; his blue eyes stared wildly; he seemed like a man possessed, as I really believe he was.

He glanced at the approaching Austrians and shuddered; then, without a word of warning, he leaped into my saddle and was gone.

It all happened so suddenly that I stood dumfounded. That one of my race and nation could be guilty of such black treachery had never entered my head.

Wild, unreasoning anger succeeded stupor, and I shook my sword at the retreating figure; then anger yielded to pity.

Poor fellow! When the cloud had passed from his mind, what would life be worth to him, even if the story of his cowardice were never made known?

What misery each recurring day would bring, as he thought of the terrible price he had paid for his life--manhood, honour, chivalry, all irretrievably lost in that one mad moment!

For the count's own sake I almost wished that a shot from the enemy would bring him down.

Had I been able to look into the future, the half-wish would have changed into a whole-hearted prayer.

But apparently luck was with the count. My horse, having recovered his wind, bore him gallantly, gaining at every stride upon the last of the robbers.

All this takes long in the telling; in reality it lasted but a little time, though to me it seemed an age.

With Count Beula and my horse had vanished every hope of escape.

Flight was impossible, and how could I stand against a hundred hussars?

Then I remembered Von Theyer, and gnashed my teeth at the thought of how he would gloat over my capture.

Would he kill me? It was likely enough, since I had been found in company with a notorious outlaw, and not many questions are asked concerning the victims of an unsuccessful revolution.

The bandits had disappeared, and I was standing beside the body of the count's dead horse when the leading hussars galloped up.

Von Theyer was not amongst them, I saw at a glance, and smiled.

The leader was the young sublieutenant who had attacked me so furiously in the fight.

He had mounted a fresh horse, but his sword was sheathed, and he looked at me quite good-naturedly.

"You must surrender!" cried he genially. "You have made a good fight, but the odds are against you. One man, though a Magyar, cannot overthrow a hundred."

He spoke in German, and I replied in the same tongue, giving him my sword, and acknowledging myself his prisoner.

Just then Von Theyer arrived, and with a savage scowl exclaimed harshly,--

"Tie that fellow up. Make sure of him, Ober, and put him on your horse. If he gets away, you'll swing in his place."

Ober, a spare but muscular hussar, saluted respectfully, and, helped by another fellow, tied my arms tightly.

Then they lifted me into the saddle; Ober sprang up behind, and we were all galloping hard after Batori and his men.

Von Theyer was in the front again, where I could not see his face; but the one glance had shown I need expect no mercy from him. Even if he forgave my making friends with the pretty Theresa, he must always hate the author of that disfiguring scar across his cheeks.

The wound had in truth spoiled his good looks for ever, and Von Theyer had been a very handsome youth in the days of the insurrection.

The excitement of the ride, however, soon blew these thoughts out of my head; and, as well as my cramped position would allow, I looked eagerly for any signs of the fugitives. Of Batori and his men we did not catch another glimpse; but the brigand chief left us a specimen of his handiwork on the roadside. Von Theyer was the first to see it, and as he stopped the others did the same.

It was a ghastly object, and my blood ran cold at sight of it.

From the bough of the very first tree we reached Count Beula hung lifeless.

Across his breast was fastened a sheet of paper, on which some one had written in Hungarian and German characters the words: "Hungary has no need of cowards."

"The brigand has saved us a job," exclaimed Von Theyer. "If we catch him we'll hang him on the same tree."

Now you may be sure I had no wish to ask a favour of Von Theyer, yet the spectacle of the hapless count swinging there in the breeze nerved me to ask that the body might be cut down and decently buried.

"Buried!" cried Von Theyer scornfully. "Let the dog hang. The kites will bury him fast enough when we are gone."

"You are a brute!" I cried hotly, caring little in my indignation for the consequences.

He raised his hand to strike me, but dropped it again.

"We will square our account later," he said, and gave the word to trot.

We rode on accordingly, but I could not drag my mind from that dreadful place.

I saw nothing of the country through which we passed. I could only see the grey face of the dead count staring down upon me from that primitive gallows.

I never met Batori again, but one of his men years afterwards related just how the tragedy happened.

The bandits, seeing me jump down to the count's assistance when his horse fell, and thinking my animal would have to carry the two of us, slackened their speed, so that we might the more easily catch them up.

When Count Beula arrived by himself, and they, looking back, saw me standing alone beside the dead horse, it was easy to guess what had happened.

The count, who was dreadfully excited, made no attempt to hide what he had done, but explained that had the Austrians captured him they would have hanged him on the nearest tree.

"Or beam," added Batori coolly.

"Tree or beam," answered the count. "That's the order which refers to both of us."

"Well," said the brigand, with the laugh his men dreaded to hear, "we shall have to ride a bit farther before we find one or the other. Come on, count! I'll pledge my word that the Austrians shall never hang you!"

Count Beula, little dreaming of the inner meaning of these words, galloped along with the band, and not another word was spoken till they reached the first tree.

Here the robber-captain called a halt, and making a sign that some of the party should surround the count, said to him,--

"This is where the Austrians would have hung you; but now, perhaps, they will hang Captain Botskay instead."

At this Beula, discovering a little shame, replied falteringly that they would only imprison me for a while; but as for him, he would never have got one step past that tree.

As soon as he had made an end of speaking, Batori raised his hand. The count was seized, torn from his horse, bound, a noose put round his neck, and he was placed directly beneath the fatal bough.

"Count Beula," cried the bandit, "you are a coward, and Hungary has no need of cowards. You have left that lad, who risked his life for you, to die. Now you shall die yourself. Though the Austrians have not caught you, you shall be hanged all the same."

The unhappy man begged piteously--not for his life, but that he might be shot.

Batori, however, remained inexorable, and while the poor wretch was still pleading gave the order. The men pulled at the rope, and the body of Count Beula hung swinging in the wind for the vultures and carrion crows to devour.

Thus, in the strangest way imaginable, it came to pass that Count Beula did hang like a common criminal by the roadside, though the Austrians were not his executioners.

I pitied the poor fellow from my heart, feeling sure that when he left me to face the enemy alone excitement had carried him out of his right senses.

As we rode from the spot I could of course only guess at the details of the tragedy, and indeed years passed before I met one of the actors; but the outline of it was so bold and clear that no one could mistake the general drift of the story, especially with Batori's sign-manual to help.

It gladdened me in after years to learn that the unfortunate count did not really fear death, but only the manner of it, as that was how I had read his conduct.

Wrapped in thoughts of this terrible tragedy, I did not at first notice that my captor's horse had dropped to the rear; for though neither Ober nor I carried any superfluous flesh, the double weight told heavily upon the animal.

The difference was more marked when Von Theyer changed the trot into a gallop; and I suddenly became alive to the fact that were my arms free, I might yet make an effort to escape.

But how was I to work this miracle?

The cords were strong, the knots skilfully tied, my arms were in a vice, while close behind me sat the Austrian trooper armed with sword and pistol.

However, life is sweet, and I set to work under cover of the horse's movements to try, by contracting my muscles, to ease the bonds.

I cannot say how long the attempt lasted, but the knots on my wrist were certainly looser, when a grim "Very sorry, captain, but the game won't work" blew my newly-formed hopes to the winds.

"It isn't that I want you hanged," continued the hussar, "but I'd rather see the rope round your neck than mine, and the colonel's in such a very ugly temper there's no knowing what might happen."

The fellow spoke so coolly that I could hardly keep from laughing, though, from my point of view, there was little humour in the situation.

However, my disappointment was not very keen, as I had hardly allowed myself to hope for success.

The Austrian, frightened a bit perhaps at seeing I did not think escape an impossibility, urged on his horse, resolved to keep within easy reach of his comrades.

Towards evening we entered the village where I had stayed the previous day, and Von Theyer ordered a halt.

The brigands had disappeared entirely, leaving no trace, and our horses were thoroughly done up.

I looked round eagerly in search of my four acquaintances, but in the whole place there was not a man except the landlord of the inn to be seen; evidently the male villagers did not appreciate a visit from the Austrian cavalry.

Von Theyer was, as my jailer had remarked, in a very ugly temper, and scowled at me savagely as Ober pulled up his weary horse.

"Put him in there," said he, pointing to the kitchen of the inn. "And don't forget it's your life or his."

Ober saluted and grinned.

"I'll take precious care it isn't mine, colonel," he answered.--"Here, Franz, lend me a hand."

The hussars dispersed, and entered the cottages in search of food, while I was pushed into the kitchen and dumped down not too softly on the floor.

Ober and the man called Franz remained on guard, and very kindly gave me a share of the black bread, fat bacon, and sour wine which formed their supper.

The food was hardly suitable for delicate stomachs, but my last meal had been supper on the previous night, and I was not in a mood to be particular.

Von Theyer, I suppose, went to see that everything was made safe, as he did not come in till nearly dark, and then passed with two other officers to the inner room.

He spoke a word to Ober, but took no more notice of me than if I had been a log of wood.

"Colonel's in one of his black fits," grumbled Ober to his comrade. "He'll make us smart for not catching that brigand."

"Wait till he does. Time enough to grumble then," replied the other coolly. "Who's going to take the first watch--you or I?"

Ober leaned over to examine my fastenings.

"Ach!" growled he. "We might as well both go to sleep. The Magyar's safe enough, and I'm as tired as a dog."

"All right. It's your head at stake--not mine. But we'll make doubly sure;" and getting some more rope, he tied me to himself.

Ober did the same on the other side, and then lay down so that I was between the pair of them.

Presently the door opened, and half a dozen hussars coming in, wrapped themselves in their long coats, and settled down to sleep.

I cannot say how they had fared in the matter of food, but their breath made it plain they had discovered plenty of liquor.

Night came. The sound of conversation in the colonel's room died away. In the kitchen all was silent save the loud snoring of the half-drunken men.

In the silence and darkness I made an effort to set myself free; but a few trials convinced me that Ober had made no mistake.

True, he and Franz were so exhausted by their forced marches that even a smart tug failed to waken them; but, on the other hand, the knots were so skilfully tied that it was impossible to loosen them.

At last I abandoned the attempt and tried to sleep, but the haunting face of the dead count and anxiety on my own behalf made that no easy matter.

It was strange that Von Theyer had not hanged me at once, and I wondered why he should wish to save my life.

I felt sure it was not out of kindness, and concluded he was governed by the same feelings that lead a cat to play with its victim.

Just here my reverie was broken by an astounding circumstance.

One of the hussars, turning about in his sleep, had brought himself close to the feet of the Austrian Franz, and by a series of wriggling movements was constantly changing his position.

Of course I could not see him plainly, but I could tell that the dark figure was moving, though very, very slowly, until it reached my head.

I lay perfectly still, save for the violent beating of my heart, which would not be controlled.

What did this by-play mean?

Naturally, perhaps, my first thoughts flew to Von Theyer. But then he had no need of foul play. By twisting his orders a little he could easily justify himself in swinging me up, and who was ever likely to question his action?

No, it could not be Von Theyer; but that only deepened the mystery.

Very stealthily a hand crept from the folds of the cloak, and in the fingers was something which glistened.

At this my heart gave one great throb, and then seemed to cease beating.

The glittering object was a long, straight knife, and as the sheen of it fell across my eyes I tried, but tried in vain, to shout for help.

"Be still!"

The words were spoken in Hungarian, hardly above a breath, and I fancied there was a somewhat familiar ring in the voice.

I lay quite quiet, not attempting to speak, and the knife, creeping down, began to rub edgewise against the cords that fastened my wrists.

The steel was sharp, the worker a master-hand, and the hempen threads fell apart as if by magic.

A sharp jerk would have set my wrists free, when Franz stirred uneasily, and though not even half awake, tugged at the rope which bound me to him.

Then he turned over again and was as soundly asleep as ever.

It was a terrible moment for the three of us, but most terrible of all for the unconscious Franz.

The dark figure at my head lay motionless, but the hand underneath that innocent-looking coat held, firmly grasped, a sharp, keen blade.

However, the danger past, the knife again slid down and finished its work. The fellow then wriggled round to our feet, and cut the cords on my legs; only the ropes binding me to my guards remained to be severed.

My excitement grew to an intense pitch; I had to force myself into silence. I wanted to jump up and scream aloud.

My unknown rescuer had apparently no nerves. The steel was pushed forward steadily, without a tremor, and the rope which bound me to Franz was cut.

One link alone remained, and I thought my brain must give way under the strain.

Several of the hussars tossed restlessly, muttering unintelligible words, while here in the very midst of them, within a few yards of their leader himself, was this daring adventurer calmly setting free the victim of that leader's vengeance.

Twice, owing to a trooper's restlessness, he had to stop; but my unknown saviour was as patient as daring, and after each halt he resumed his work.

With the snapping of the last thread I felt as if I really must break into a fit of hysterical laughter, or waken Von Theyer by a defiant taunt; but, alas! my childish glee was soon over. As I was stealing cautiously away, Ober sprang to his feet.

In an instant two dark figures were grappling with each other, swaying this way and that; then a loud cry of "Treachery!" came from the Austrian; there was a swift flash of steel, and poor Ober sank, groaning.

"This way!" shouted my rescuer, and I darted after him towards the door.

The troopers jumping up tried to stop us, but the stranger knocked down several with some heavy weapon, and cleared a passage.

The confusion was tremendous, and the officers, coming from their apartment, vainly endeavoured to find its cause.

We were at the door, outside, free!

"Follow!" cried the stranger, without wasting words; but as he turned for the open country, dozens of troopers poured into the street.

My guide dashed away, and was lost in the darkness, and I should have got clear but for one of the hussars, who flung himself right across my path.

Down I went with a crash, and though rising quickly, a smart blow on the head behind sent me sprawling, and the next instant I was in the midst of the angry crowd.

CHAPTER XXV.

IMPRISONED AT ARAD.

Von Theyer met me at the inn door, but he was busy giving orders that a detachment of troops should mount and scour the district.

Candles and flaring torches burned in the kitchen, and by their light I saw three men, all badly wounded, lying side by side.

At the farther end of the apartment lay Ober, and the hussars pulled and hustled me towards his body.

Poor fellow! He was quite dead, and close by I saw the keen blade, now stained with blood, that had slain him.

His comrades uttered loud threats of vengeance, and one man, pressing the muzzle of his pistol against my forehead, swore he would shoot me.

Another pulled him back, saying he might safely leave me to the colonel, who would not fail to avenge the dead hussar.

For myself, I was in a state of utter bewilderment, and looked at the brawny, rough-voiced men like a dazed child.

The long-continued excitement and the dramatic close of the incident had for the time clouded my brain, and, beyond the fact that Ober was dead, I grasped nothing clearly.

Then above the babel of sounds I heard a voice ordering in tones of command that my arms should be bound afresh.

This the men did very willingly, and in their anger they tied the knots so tightly that the pain almost caused me to faint.

Then two of them led me into the next room, where Von Theyer sat, with a pair of pistols on the table beside him.

"That will do," he exclaimed harshly. "Leave him there. Now go outside and wait. Don't be frightened if you hear the report of a pistol. I'm in no danger."

The men saluted and withdrew, leaving me facing their colonel.

At the sight of that face with the hideous scar my senses and my manhood returned to me. I remembered that I came of a race of Magyar nobles, and resolved to show myself worthy to bear their name.

"George Botskay, once a so-called captain in the rebel army, but now an associate of thieves and murderers, I demand to know the name of the villain by whose aid you have stabbed an unoffending man to death."

At this implied accusation of a cowardly crime my face flushed, and I cried hotly,--

"I throw the lie in your teeth, Colonel von Theyer. My hands are free from innocent blood, as you well know, though it may suit your purpose to declare otherwise."

Von Theyer laughed, and his lips assumed a cruel curve that was not pleasant to see.

"You are right," said he coldly. "It does suit my purpose. Can you guess why I did not hang you by the side of your friend Count Beula? I had another plan, and this night's work has made its success certain. Look at me, George Botskay, and see for what I have to thank you. In Vienna you worked me harm enough, but this, this--" And he half choked as he laid his hand on his scarred cheek.

"I am truly sorry for your disfigurement," I replied, "but it happened in the heat of battle and with no malice on my part."

"Perhaps when I have made you suffer I shall be sorry too," he said flippantly. "We shall see. I could hang you now--your life is forfeit to the laws; but that is not my wish. I am going to brand your name, so that it shall be carried to Vienna as the name of a common thief and assassin. I will make the Austrian government your judge and your executioner. When you have been publicly disgraced and hung, Fräulein Theresa may not be quite so proud of her Hungarian friend."

"You are a coward and a scoundrel," I cried contemptuously, "and may do as you please;" but for all my brave words the barbed shaft had struck home.

Von Theyer saw this, and was beginning to laugh, when he caught sight of the locket, which showed through my disordered apparel.

Apparently he recognized it, as he sprang forward to remove it; and then he saw the baron's ring.

"Oh, oh!" he cried; "this is famous! So you have been robbing the dead! I think this will add an extra spice to my revenge."

Dragging the ring from my finger, he called his men to take me away and guard me closely.

By this time day was breaking; and the soldiers, unable to sleep, got ready their morning meal.

As no one offered me any, I went without, which was not an agreeable method of beginning the day.

However, they gave me plenty of rope instead, and I was firmly fastened on Ober's horse, while two men with levelled pistols rode one on either side of me.

The detachment sent out during the night met us a few miles from the village, and the officer reported they had been unable to find any trace of the mysterious stranger.

Talking amongst themselves, the hussars declared that the daring intruder must have been Batori Gabor, and I held that opinion too.

Rakoczy was a prisoner, and Mecsey Sándor far away, so that unless one of the disbanded soldiers had performed the deed, the robber-captain was the only person left to suspect.

However, the scheme had failed, and I was more strongly guarded than before.

Von Theyer gave the strictest orders to the two troopers, one of whom was Franz, the comrade of the dead Ober.

This man eyed me most maliciously, and I felt sure he would be a splendid tool in furthering the colonel's scheme.

From boyhood, riding had been one of my chief pleasures; but this new style, tied hand and foot and bound to a horse's back, was a novelty I did not appreciate.

Towards noon we halted beside a pleasant stream, a tributary of the Maros; and having attended to the animals, the men sat down to their frugal dinner.

Now, since there is no satisfaction to be obtained in hanging a dead man, Von Theyer was compelled to give me some food; and this, with the temporary freedom of my arms, was a great relief.

Having finished their black bread and cheese, most of the men began to smoke. Some rolled out their greatcoats and went to sleep, while others played strange games with packs of well-thumbed cards.

The halt lasted perhaps two hours, when the bugles sounded, and we were again in motion.

By this time Von Theyer had evidently abandoned all hope of catching the robbers, as we rode at a sober pace, and finished the day's march long before sunset.

Our new quarters were in a fair-sized village, and I was rather amused by the precautions taken to ensure my safety.

Six men were placed in the same room, and a sentry was posted outside the door.

If any accident occurred during the night, the colonel promised to hang them all without exception; and as Von Theyer was a man of his word, the troopers regarded his threat with respect.

Poor fellows! In spite of my own risky position I pitied them; they were like men suffering from a bad form of nightmare.

After a meagre supper, quickly dispatched, my arms were rebound, and I was bundled into a corner, the sergeant in charge of the guard warning me not to move, which was rather unnecessary advice.

Two of the hussars stood over me with drawn swords, the others sat on a bench waiting for their spell of duty. I don't think any of them went to sleep.

About midnight Von Theyer himself paid us a visit; and the guard, springing to their feet, presented arms.

He glanced round the room with an approving smile, and said,--

"Well, sergeant, I think your prisoner will have small chance of stabbing any one to-night."

The sergeant smiled at the compliment to his vigilance, and the colonel came over to my corner.

Not caring to bandy words with him before his men, I closed my eyes, pretending to be asleep, and after a minute or two he went away.

The night passed wearily enough, for although I managed to sleep, my rest was broken by feverish dreams, and I gladly welcomed the coming of another day.

For some reason unknown to me we did not set out till ten o'clock; and when, after an uneventful journey, we rode into the town of Arad, the autumn afternoon was fast blending into evening.

The inhabitants of the old market-town swarmed out to see the Austrian cavalry, and many glances of compassion and pity were directed on the bound and helpless prisoner in their midst.

A few expressed their sympathy audibly, but for the most part men, women, and children stood mournful indeed but silent.

Alas! the glory of the Magyar had departed. Henceforth my unhappy countrymen must bend beneath the whips of their Austrian masters.

Once we were startled by a mocking laugh from some one in the crowd, and Von Theyer frowned angrily as a clear voice sang out, "Let the colonel look to his guards. 'Twill be his turn next."

The Austrian dashed towards the spot whence the words came, but he met only the innocent faces of terrified people, and for very shame's sake he dared not punish them.

The voice roused me, for it was that of the man who had slain Ober in the kitchen of the inn; and now I knew the daring intruder had been Batori, the robber-captain.

Others also guessed the secret, and Franz riding up to the colonel whispered something in his ear.

Immediately the troopers were ordered to disperse, and in small parties to search every nook and cranny in both the old and the new town.

Meanwhile Von Theyer, with half a dozen men who acted as my escort, rode to the bridge which spans one arm of the Maros, and connects Arad with the spit of land on which the fortress is built.

The last time I had passed that way the red, white, and green stripes waved proudly from the ramparts. Now the black and yellow flag hung from the walls--an outward and visible sign of our defeat.

A group of citizens stood on the river-bank to watch us go past, and my heart gave a great leap as I recognized amongst them the faithful Mecsey Sándor.

He had discarded his uniform, and was dressed in civilian costume, though he could not altogether disguise his military carriage.

His eyes looked straight into mine, and by a kind of dumb show he made me understand that Rakoczy was confined in Gros-Wardein.

Then our little cavalcade swept by, the gates were thrown open, and we passed behind the frowning walls of the fortress.

Here Von Theyer left us, and I soon received ample proof of how effectually he had blackened my character to the governor.

Instead of being treated as an honourable though beaten enemy, I was roughly thrust into a small, dark cell, bare of furniture, and left to my own reflections till the morning, when a jailer, attended by several soldiers, brought me some food and untied my bonds.

For this last attention I was extremely grateful, and ate my lump of dry black bread in an almost cheerful spirit.

But as day followed day without change, the gloom and monotony oppressed me like a heavy weight. I grew moody and depressed, and in spite of a hard struggle was gradually driven to look upon the dark side of things.

No news of any kind came to me in my narrow prison. The jailer refused to answer a question, saying the only matter I need trouble about was the date of my execution.

At first I dreamed of making my escape, but this idea was soon abandoned, as I saw how hopeless any attempt must be.

The cell door was of iron, the walls were strong and massive, and I had not so much as a nail to work with.

Almost my sole dependence lay in Mecsey Sándor, yet what he could do I could not imagine.

However, I tried hard not to despair, and resolved, if need be, to meet my fate bravely.

In this manner more than a fortnight passed, when one morning, about two hours after my breakfast of black bread and water, I was surprised to hear the tramp of marching feet, which stopped opposite my cell.

The key turned in the massive lock, the door opened, and I was harshly ordered to step outside.

A number of soldiers with bayonets fixed waited. I was placed in the midst of them and hurried away.

These men belonged to an infantry regiment, and were strangers to me, but it was plain they had formed a very unfavourable opinion of my character.

Crossing the square, they halted in front of a low door, and the officer in command of the party signed to me to follow him.

An antechamber was filled with soldiers, fully armed and standing at attention, while their faces were about as human as chiselled stone.

Passing through, we entered a second apartment, where a dozen officers were seated round a baize-covered table littered with writing material.

Recognizing that these men held my life in their hands, I looked at them eagerly.

The president's chair was occupied by a tall old man with slightly-stooping shoulders, scanty white hair, and long, drooping, white moustaches.

His face was bronzed, and his breast covered with numerous ribbons and medals, but his blue eyes were rather dreamy, and I thought he had much ado to keep himself awake.

The officers who flanked him on either side of the table were of various ages, and belonged to different branches of the service, but they all sat as immovable as statues.

The silence was so weird and oppressive that I welcomed the sound of the president's voice when he began the proceedings by asking my name.

"George Botskay," I proudly answered.

"Captain in the rebel army?" he went on, reading from a slip of paper.

"Captain on the staff of General Görgei, commander-in-chief of the Hungarian national forces," I replied.

One of the stone griffins started into life at this, but the president petrified him again by a wave of the hand.

"Why did you not surrender with your leader?"

"Because I was absent on special duty."

"It is stated here," said he, tapping the paper, "that you were at Vilagos on the thirteenth of August."

"I was, but not with the army."

The other stone men showed signs of life now, and the old warrior continued his examination.

"Was it not your duty, as a soldier of honour, to obey your chief's orders, and to give yourself up to the proper authorities?"

"That view of the question did not strike me," I answered, and quite honestly too. "I was not with the army, and therefore did not consider myself included in the surrender."

"You preferred instead to join the band of a notorious robber?"

"That is false," I cried--"utterly false!"

The president, though he did not look like a merciful man, was exceedingly polite.

"I am afraid," he said, "that the facts are against you. Colonel von Theyer, one of our best officers--"

"A rebel turncoat," I interrupted angrily.

"I do not think, Herr Botskay, that abuse of a trusted officer will do your case any good. His report expressly states that you were discovered with this band of robbers. Do you deny the truth of the charge?"

"I cannot; but my being there was the result of blind chance."

The griffins actually smiled, which convinced me I was getting deeper into the mire, and that feeling was not lessened when the president said softly, "An unlucky chance for you, Herr Botskay, I fear."

"It is the truth for all that," I said stoutly.

"Did Count Beula meet the robbers by accident also?"

"I cannot say. I know nothing of him."

"Here again my information differs from your statement. The count was well known as an abettor of the massacres in Vienna, and it is laid down here that you were in personal communication with him at the beginning of the insurrection. Is that so?"

The ground seemed to be slipping from under me.

"Count Beula was never a friend of mine," I said.

"One does not always make a friend of an accomplice," replied the president suavely. "But here is another question. Is it true that on any single occasion you attended a meeting of the Hungarian Committee?"

"That is easily explained," I began. "When--"

"Pardon me, general," interrupted one of my judges, "but I should like the prisoner to give a direct answer--yes or no--to the question. It is a simple matter. Did he or did he not, in October of 1848, attend a meeting of the Hungarian Committee?"

"If you will not allow me to explain, I shall refuse to answer at all," I exclaimed.

"Then," said the man who had spoken, "we shall be forced to draw our own conclusions;" and he sat down very red, but triumphant, amid a hum of approval.

"There is one other matter on which you might like to say a word," remarked the president blandly, "and that is the doing to death of the trooper Ober."

To this I replied that the unfortunate man had not met his death at my hands, nor was I in any way responsible for the striking of the fatal blow.

Here again I was confronted by further proof of how finely my enemy had woven the meshes of my net.

According to the sworn evidence of the man Franz, he had seen the knife in my hand, and he had also seen me stab the hapless trooper to the heart.

On the evidence supplied to them my judges could so easily find me guilty of almost any crime that I took little interest in the rest of the proceedings.

Von Theyer had made such a skilful blend of fact and fiction that his story had all the appearance of unadulterated truth. On one point alone he had not fulfilled his threat; there was no allusion to the ring and miniature of the dead baron.

I believe the president did mention vaguely some other charges, but as I could not be shot or hung twice over, these did not much matter.

When he had finished his speech I bowed courteously, saluted the officers in military fashion, and followed the leader of the escort from the room.

Once again I was placed in the midst of the soldiers, and marched back to my cell, where they left me without a word. I sat down on the wooden bench which was my sole article of furniture, and tried to think over my position.

It seemed gloomy and hopeless enough, and turn which way I would, the only outlook was towards the scaffold.

As far as I could understand, the Austrians claimed the right to hang me on either of two grounds--the refusal to surrender with Görgei at Vilagos, and the fact that I was caught in the company of a notorious band of robbers.

The other points, such as my acquaintance with Count Beula and the slaying of the hussar, were mere garnishings, added by the wily Von Theyer to prejudice my judges, and prevent them tempering justice by mercy.

In this there could be no doubt he succeeded perfectly, and I felt certain that whatever I might put forward in my defence would prove of no avail.

Indeed it was likely enough my sentence had already been pronounced, and that at any moment I might be led out to execution. Every sound which reached my ears startled me, and a dozen times I stood up trying to calm the beatings of my heart.

But the day passed, and at night the jailer brought my black bread and water, and went away again as usual without saying a word. I ate and drank feverishly, and then lay down on the narrow bench wondering what would happen before the next setting of the sun. Very slowly and wearily the dark hours crawled along, until, utterly worn out, I fell asleep, to be awakened, it seemed almost immediately, by the rattling of keys and the creaking of the iron door. In an instant I sprang to my feet, and waited with taut-strung nerves for the final ordeal.

My visitor was the jailer, and as he placed my breakfast on the ground, I burst into a peal of hysterical laughter.

CHAPTER XXVI.

LED OUT TO EXECUTION.

I pass rapidly over the period of suspense which succeeded my examination.

Even now it is painful to look back on the time when I fully expected every hour of each ensuing day to be my last.

Yet night and morning came and went, and I still remained in the dark cell, unable to learn anything concerning my fate.

The only relief to the monotony was the coming of the jailer, and he was such a surly fellow that his visits gave me more pain than pleasure.

A whole week passed in this way, and then I was again taken from the cell and marched to another part of the fortress.

At every step I gazed round anxiously, expecting to see the preparations for my execution.

Young, strong, and healthy, I had no wish to die; yet this horrible uncertainty, this alternation of hope and fear, was actually worse than death.

The faces of the soldiers were stolid and impassive--nothing could be learned from them; while the officer did not even look at me. We crossed the courtyard, and my pulses throbbed with fresh hope as I was led into a spacious room, where a stout, florid man in military uniform sat at a table writing.

Only two of the escort had entered with the officer, and these stood with fixed bayonets.

The florid man left his chair, and pointing to another, said coldly,--

"Sit down there, Herr Botskay. By order of the general commanding, you are to answer these questions in writing, an hour being given you for the task."

To all appearance I was quite cool, but the blood surged through my veins like a rushing torrent, and I could not see the questions on the paper for dizziness.

Apathy and despair vanished. The latent spark of hope kindled into a fresh flame. Here was another chance of life and freedom. Alas! my new and beautiful castle was built on very frail foundations.

The questions numbered nearly a dozen, and were framed in such a manner that by answering them without adding the fullest explanations I should only make my case worse.

A quarter of an hour passed, and I still sat staring stupidly at my blank sheet of paper.

The soldiers stood grimly at attention, the officer leaned on his sword, the stout man sat writing stolidly; no sound but the monotonous ticking of the clock and the beating of my own heart broke the silence.

At last, seizing the pen, I began to write--not in answer to the questions, but a short account of what had passed between Von Theyer and myself, and an explanation of how I came to be in the company of Batori Gabor.

It was rather a lame performance, its chief merit being to afford a reason for Von Theyer's persecution; and when the official came to witness my signature, I felt it would do me but little good.

Another week passed--a week of heart-wearing suspense--before I was again called to attend the court.

A single glance at the faces of my judges extinguished the tiny spark of hope which struggled to keep alive in my breast.

The president spoke in impressive tones, every word sounding distinctly in the quiet room.

It was a long speech, but the whole of it might easily have been compressed into a dozen sentences.

On the first two counts--refusing to surrender at Vilagos, and joining a band of notorious outlaws--I was unanimously found guilty, and sentenced to death.

After this, one would have thought the rest to be of little interest, but the president gravely continued his remarks.

The unlawful killing of Ober was also considered proved, and on the various other charges laid against me the court expressed no opinion.

"Therefore," concluded the president in a solemn voice, "it becomes my painful duty to tell you, George Botskay. that on the second morning from this you will be led out to execution in the market-place of this town, that your death may act as a warning to all those who vainly hope to oppose the imperial government."

My limbs trembled, the blood left my face, but, managing to control my voice, I said calmly, "As a soldier, general, you will know a soldier's feelings. I do not plead for mercy, but there is one favour I would like to beg."

"Speak on, Herr Botskay. It may be in our power to grant it."

"Then I ask that you will at least permit me to die the death of a soldier, and not that of a criminal."

"That," responded the old man, "is impossible, since you ceased to be a soldier when you joined Batori Gabor. As a brigand you were captured, as a brigand you must suffer;" and he waved his hand, directing that I should be removed.

Back again in the lonely cell, my first feeling was one of relief that the period of suspense had ended.

I could no longer be tortured by swift alternations of hopes and fears. The worst had come, and with it a feeling of apathetic stupor.

But the next day, as I sat measuring off the hours by guess-work, a revulsion of feeling set in.

Life was sweet, and all the throbbing vigour of my youth protested hotly against this violent and disgraceful death.

Had it come when I charged with Görgei at the head of our cavalry, or when beside my noble-hearted brother I scaled the ramparts of Buda, the glow of patriotism, of devotion to my outraged country, would have removed half its terrors; but now, in this guise!

Then my thoughts turned to the faithful Mecsey; to John Rakoczy, my true and gallant friend, whom I should never again see; finally passing to the Austrian maiden, whose fair face had never faded from my memory.

Would she believe the untruths which Von Theyer would but too surely circulate?

I shuddered to think what terrible stories his fertile brain might invent when I was no longer able to give them the lie.

Yet, through it all, I never quite lost hope that the beautiful girl would keep her faith in my truth and honour; and this feeling sufficed to raise me from the slough of misery into which I was sinking.

Night came at length, and the surly jailer brought my last supper, which I forced myself to eat.

Then, after a solemn hour spent in prayer, I lay down on my hard bench and slept peacefully as a child.

I had no means of telling the time, but the jailer apparently wakened me earlier than usual, and I was led into a room where, instead of the usual bread and water, a proper breakfast was laid. The apartment was filled with soldiers; and when I had finished, two of them, stepping forward, pinioned my arms tightly behind my back.

It was, as near as I could judge, about ten o'clock when the governor entered, and, after a brief talk with one of the officers, ordered the procession to be formed.

The air was keen, though the sun shone brightly overhead, as we proceeded slowly to the courtyard, where the soldiers halted.

Two other detachments now joined us, and in the midst of each a prisoner walked bareheaded.

They were both officers in Bern's army of Transylvania, so I did not know them, but we exchanged glances of pity and goodwill.

One was an old man with scarred face and white, flowing beard, a veteran Pole, who had spent his life in warfare against the enemies of his country.

His fellow-victim was quite young, hardly older than myself; but he bore himself as proudly as his comrade, gazing at the Austrians without a tremor.

After a delay of ten minutes the arrangements were completed, and the booming of a big gun announced to the townsfolk that the mournful procession was about to issue from the gates of the fortress.

The soldiers closed up their ranks, the order was issued, and we set out, my escort being the last of the three.

I tried hard to march with steady step and unfaltering countenance, but it was hard work.

The fresh morning air, the bright October sun, the merry flight of birds overhead, even the gaudy uniforms of the soldiers, spoke of life, and I was going to lose it.

A lump rose in my throat as we passed through the gateway, but I remembered I was a Magyar, and choked it down.

The pain and misery would soon be at an end, and the white-coats must not think me a coward.

At minute intervals a gun was fired from the ramparts, and the church-bells of the town tolled mournfully in response.

Crossing the one bridge which had not been destroyed during the war, we entered the town proper.

I was astounded at the spectacle.

Two lines of soldiers with loaded rifles guarded the route to the market-place, and kept back the crowds of people who stood on tiptoe and craned their necks in eager anxiety to catch a last view of those about to die.

Not the populace of the town alone had assembled, but the inhabitants of all the surrounding districts had come in thousands to show respect to the victims of Austrian cruelty.

The women sobbed as we went by, and looked at us with a yearning pity that almost broke down my composure. The eyes of the men flashed with fierce hate, and I thought it well that these brave Magyars had no weapons.

Little children were held up in the arms of their fathers to see us, and were that day taught a lesson which they would not forget in many years.

The nearer we approached our destination the denser the crowd became, while the market-place itself was so packed that several persons died of suffocation.

There, during the preceding night, an enormous wooden stage had been erected, and in the centre was a tall gallows.

At the sight of this, I confess freely, my heart sank, and I feared that my courage would desert me.

Now just at this moment I saw the face of the gallant Mecsey Sándor, which acted on my nerves like a strong tonic.

The faithful fellow stood in the very foremost of the crowd, immediately behind the soldiers, and opposite the steps by which the wide platform was reached.

He was very mournful, yet the look in his eyes expressed something more than sorrow.

"Courage, my sweet master, and God bless you!" cried he boldly, while I, turning my head, smiled to show I understood.

"Courage, George Botskay!" exclaimed a second voice. "The Austrians cannot kill your name, which will never die in Magyar-land."

The man who spoke was standing next Mecsey, and I stared in amazement at beholding Dobozy.

What was he doing there?

If he were free, why not "John the Joyous?"

So great a longing suddenly seized me to look on the dear fellow's face once more that I was unnerved, and only by a great effort kept myself from stumbling.

Several other voices now cried, "God bless you, captain!" and I became aware that many men of my old regiment were grouped around Mecsey Sándor and Dobozy.

I smiled a last farewell at them, but my aching eyes sought in vain for the noble figure of their colonel, and I concluded he was still a prisoner, or dead.

Right round the ghastly structure a cordon of troops had been drawn, the space inside being occupied by a regiment of hussars.

Even before meeting him I knew instinctively that Von Theyer was at their head, and the knowledge gave me added courage.

He, at least, should never guess the tortures that I suffered.

I walked firmly, with head erect, gazing boldly at my bitter enemy. He was on horseback, almost at the foot of the wooden steps which led to the scaffold, so that but for my guard I should have brushed against him in passing.

His eyes, full of cruel hatred, met mine; but I trust they detected no sign of fear or blenching in my face.

I mounted the steps, and as the soldiers placed me beneath the gallows a low, deep hum of pity rose from the crowd.

The two officers from Bern's army were stationed some distance away on my right, and the governor, stepping to the front, began reading in a loud, clear voice some official document.

It was a wonderful and impressive scene. The huge platform, with half a dozen high officials and two firing parties; the bronzed hussars, in brilliant uniforms, sitting their horses like statues; the ring of infantry, with the sun shining on their bright, steel bayonets the hushed crowd beyond, angry but impotent--furnished a spectacle that those who beheld never forgot while life lasted.

The governor continued to read, and as he read a little bird with cherry-coloured throat and gay plumage came and perched itself near me on the frowning gallows.

I was watching the tiny fellow with interest when a cry from the crowd, as of pain wrung from some animal, greeted the end of the governor's speech.

The fatal moment was fast approaching, and I cast a farewell glance at Mecsey and his companions.

The faithful fellow was in a state of terrible excitement, those around him being hardly less moved.

Their faces alternated with hope and fear, grief, rage, despair, anxiety--in short, all the passions that the human face is capable of expressing. But, above all, it seemed to me they were waiting.

Waiting for what?

The idea which suddenly flashed across my mind made me tremble. Was it possible that these great-hearted men were mad enough to dream of a rescue?

From my heart I hoped and prayed this was not the secret of their excitement.

The thing was utterly impossible, and could only lead to the shedding of much innocent blood.

Life had never seemed so glorious a possession as it did just then, but I would have forfeited it a hundred times rather than expose those thousands of men and women to the horrors of an Austrian butchery.

Yet I was powerless to avert the evil, if, indeed, the trusty Mecsey had planned such a mad project.

However, in a few brief moments now everything would be decided. My fellow-victims were to suffer first, and, kneeling in the positions appointed, they submitted to the bandaging of their eyes.

I kept my head steadfastly turned from the cruel scene, as did the vast majority of the crowd.

The firing parties advanced.

"Long live Hungary!" cried the younger soldier.

"Long live Poland!" cried the veteran, the voices of both being equally cool and collected.

"Fire!"

The report of the volleys rang out, and a groan burst from the spectators.

From the victims themselves there came not a sound.

When next I looked round, the two bodies had been removed, and the governor was beginning to read from a second paper. It was a recital of my various crimes, and the sentence pronounced by the military tribunal.

Slowly, expressively, giving each word with due distinctness, he read on, while I watched Mecsey's face, and prayed that the speech might come to an end before mischief was done.

Yet, all unknown to me, the question of my life or death hung on the length of time occupied by that pompous old man.

It could not be said I had abandoned hope, since, after the finding of the court-martial, I had never entertained any; all my suspense now was centered in the action of Mecsey and his companions.

That their presence, and the selection of their particular position, was due to some settled purpose, there could be little doubt; and I felt equally sure that every man of that desperate party was in possession of hidden weapons.

What was the signal they waited for?

Suddenly, in the midst of the reading, there came a cry from the outskirts of the crowd--a cry caught up and repeated by thousands of voices, till the volume of sound rolled over the whole market-place.

Mecsey and his confederates threw their caps high into the air, and yelled like madmen; the governor, deadly pale, stopped his reading and called to Von Theyer, who hastily mounted the platform; the infantry, waiting for orders, gripped their rifles with grim resolution; the hussars bared their swords and prepared for the word to charge.

Yet the people made no attempt at a rescue; only in one place they formed a lane along which a horseman galloped frantically amidst such a wild outburst of cheering as Arad never knew before or since.

During those few moments I must have suffered more agony than falls to the lot of many men in a lifetime.

Of what was happening I had not the slightest idea, only I saw Von Theyer return to his men, and heard his short, quick words of command.

At the same time the infantry faced about and presented a steel-girt barrier to the crowd.

Yet the cheering did not cease--it grew louder; and now we on the platform could hear such words as "The Kaiser! Long live Francis Josef! Long live the Kaiser!"

At the first sign of danger the soldiers on the platform surrounded me in a body, and the executioner was already arranging the noose when the horseman reached the line of infantry.

What he said I knew not, but those sturdy warriors opened their ranks. He dashed through, and when in the open space Von Theyer would have turned him back, he struck him from the saddle, at the same time shouting out something in a loud tone.

Springing to the ground, he left his horse with heaving flanks and spume-flaked nostrils, and scrambled up the wooden steps, crying aloud and waving a large white envelope.

As one in a dream I watched him approach the governor and hand him the mysterious missive.

Then he turned to me, and I forgot all about death, for the strange messenger was "John the Joyous."

Never had the name fitted him more admirably. His cheeks were flushed with happiness; his eyes bright and sparkling; every feature had part in the joyous smile that overspread his handsome face.

I could not think or reason--in fact there was no necessity, for John Rakoczy had come.

The crowd shouted lustily until the governor, waving the white envelope, went to the edge of the platform.

Then the cheering ceased and all was silent save for the voice of the governor as he read from a sheet of paper the free pardon of His Most Gracious Majesty, Kaiser Francis Josef, to George Botskay, sometime captain on the staff of General Arthur Görgei.

He added some further words, to which the people responded with a wild cheer, and then began to disperse, while I stood dumfounded with the rope yet round my neck.

The market-place emptied slowly; the infantry formed up in companies and marched to the fortress; the hussars, headed by Von Theyer looking black and scowling, trotted off; only the governor's personal escort remained.

Then the old man harshly told me I was at liberty; and he, too, went away, leaving me with my chivalrous friend.

This startling swing back from the very brink of the grave left me weak and dazed. I had hardly sufficient strength to thank the man who had saved my life.

"Wait a bit," said he smilingly. "There will be plenty of time for all that. We have many things to tell each other, but you must get back a little strength first. Come, lean on me. Mecsey has a carriage ready, and I am going to send you to Gyula."

"Aren't you coming?"

"In a day or two. There is a little business in Arad to be settled first."

So greatly had my nerves been weakened by the shock that I did not guess what the business was, and permitted him to lead me away without protest.

At one of the inns Mecsey waited with a carriage, and many of the old Honveds stood in front of the house.

Dobozy was there too, and the true-hearted kindness of my former companions brought tears of gratitude to my eyes.

"The Joyous" wrapped me up comfortably, and giving Mecsey, who was to ride inside, many injunctions, shook my hand in a parting grasp.

"Rouse yourself!" cried he. "Dobozy and I are coming in a few days, and we don't want to be entertained by an invalid."

Dobozy added some lively badinage to cheer my spirits, the two waved their hands in farewell, the coachman cracked his whip, and we were off to the lonely homestead I had not visited during the last two years.

CHAPTER XXVII.

AN AUSTRO-HUNGARIAN ALLIANCE.

"The Joyous" was certainly not acting up to his reputation.

We had just adjourned to the drawing-room after supper, and were sipping our coffee.

The light from the central lamp fell on Baron von Arnstein's ring and miniature.

"Von Theyer was wearing them, poor fellow!" exclaimed Rakoczy gloomily. "See! there is a bloodstain on the miniature!"

"Poor fellow, indeed!" cried Dobozy. "I've no patience with you. He is as much to be regretted as a vicious old tusker! Besides, after such a knock-down blow, you were bound to fight."

"The general opinion; though Schlick thought that, as the emperor's special messenger, I acted rightly."

"At all events, you saved my life, John," I interrupted.

"And now," Dobozy answered merrily, "he regrets it!"

"No, no!" cried John. "I would kill a hundred Von Theyers if they threatened George's safety. Still, this hussar was a splendid soldier, and brave as a lion."

"He was the finest cavalry leader in the Austrian service," I said.

"And tried his very hardest to get you hanged," laughed Dobozy.

"That's so!" exclaimed Rakoczy. "Still, I would rather have slain him on the battlefield than in a duel."

"While he preferred that Botskay should hang," observed Dobozy.

In my dazed state at Arad I had not thought of the consequences which must follow Rakoczy's blow, but he and Dobozy knew the Austrian would be satisfied with nothing less than a duel to the death.

Indeed, my carriage had barely departed when several officers galloped up with demands for the most abject apology, unless my friend wished to receive challenges from all the officers of the regiment in succession.

To this Rakoczy replied good-humouredly that he had no quarrel with any one save their colonel, whom he would fight, and referred them to Dobozy as his friend.

A duel was accordingly arranged, in which Von Theyer fell, whereupon General Schlick forbade the officers of the regiment from carrying the matter farther.

All this had been talked over after supper, but the sight of the ring and miniature brought up the subject afresh.

At last, however, Rakoczy, shaking off his depression, settled down to explain how my pardon was obtained from the emperor.

"In the first place," he began, "everything is owing to Mecsey Sándor, who is the best and trustiest of servants."

Dobozy caused an interruption here by his emphatic approval of the remark.

"Seeing you in the hands of Von Theyer," Rakoczy continued, "he at once scented mischief, and returned to Gros-Wardein. There he hung about till I was set free, when he told me what had happened. Now, it struck me that unless the Austrian had a strong case, you would not have lived to reach the fortress. I scarcely knew how to act. Görgei was in prison, though pardoned, and I had no influence with the Austrian leaders. Here, again, Mecsey Sándor came to the rescue. 'Does not my master know some powerful ladies in Vienna?' he asked. That question furnished me with a key to undo all the locks."

"Then 'twas the fräulein who saved my life?" I cried.

"Or her mother," answered Rakoczy slyly. "But you are in a desperate hurry to reach the end of the story, which isn't a compliment to the teller."

"Go on!" I cried impatiently. "So you reached Vienna."

"But not in a second, my friend. The journey took time. However, I did get there, and found the ladies in mourning for the baron. Poor little Theresa was pale as a ghost, and her eyes were red with much weeping. Really it seemed cruel, to burden them with fresh sorrow. But your life was at stake, my boy, so I cast scruples to the winds and told them the story. They only knew the baron was dead; and when I related how you had nursed and afterwards buried him, even the baroness thawed and called on God to bless you."

"And Theresa?"

"She only spoke with her eyes, and some day you may discover for yourself what they said. To push on with the story, however--Dobozy's positively yawning!--I told them how you had spoiled Von Theyer's beauty, winding up with an account of your imprisonment and almost certain execution, unless the emperor himself would interfere."

"And they agreed to petition him?"

"Yes. At first the baroness threw cold water on the scheme, saying it could not succeed; but Theresa wept and prayed so earnestly that her mother consented, and we all three set out immediately for the palace.

"By my advice Theresa sought an audience for herself only. Any woman in distress has influence over a man; but when one's petitioner is young and beautiful--well, there! You know more about these things than I do."

"Then the emperor received her?"

"Or you would not be here now. I intended to advise her what to say, but, bless you, she had it all mapped out."

"Trust a woman, old or young, for that," remarked Dobozy.

"'There are four chief points,' she said to me. 'The attempt to save Count Latour, which ought to count for much; his protection of my mother and myself; his kindness to my father, who was a great favourite with the young archduke before he ascended the throne; and his steady opposition to the scheme of separation.'"

"And the last is not the least," said I, delighted to find she had thought about it all.

"Well, we waited in the courtyard of the palace, the baroness seated in her comfortable carriage, I on horseback. About sixty times an hour I opened my watch--not the battered one--and wondered what was happening in the audience-chamber. Every time a door opened or a servant of the palace moved, my heart leaped to my mouth. The baroness, stately and dignified, sat bolt upright, as if nothing under the sun could trouble her, though I believe she felt keenly, nevertheless."

"These people," exclaimed Dobozy with an air of wisdom, "never obtrude their feelings in public."

"A second hour passed," continued Rakoczy, "and half of the third, when a door was opened, and Theresa, accompanied by a perfect escort of high functionaries, made her appearance. The first glance assured me all was right.

"She had been weeping--the tear-stains being still on her face--but her eyes were bright and sparkling now, and she ran to my horse's head with an abandon that must have shocked her mother.

"'Ride, Herr Rakoczy!' she exclaimed. 'Do not waste a second! Here is your friend's pardon, signed by the emperor's own hand. No, don't stop to thank me. If--if--oh, it would be too terrible!' and without a moment's warning she burst into tears.

"I was going to comfort her, but she dried her eyes, declared she was stupid, and skipped off to the carriage.

"Then I doffed my hat to the ladies, wished them farewell, and galloped off. Luckily for you--and others--I arrived at Arad just in time."

By his mention of others I guessed there still remained something to be cleared up. But first I wished to make sure about a little matter which caused me some anxiety.

"How will Theresa learn that your journey ended successfully?" I asked.

"From the palace, no doubt. However, I took the liberty of sending a trusty messenger with a letter in which I stated that, as soon as you were strong enough, you would pay your thanks in person."

"Which I most certainly will do. Now tell me, please, whom you meant by the others."

"That's Dobozy's yarn, not mine."

"Or rather Mecsey's."

"And it had something to do with a public rescue?"

Dobozy laughed.

"About the maddest idea that ever occurred to any man outside the walls of a lunatic asylum. I never spent such a bad half-hour in my life. But for the colonel's arrival, I really can't say what would have happened. Mecsey was in deadly earnest, and he had so worked on the men of your old regiment that they were ready for anything."

"But the plan?" I exclaimed. "There must have been at least some glimmering of a plan?"

"Well, you see, this servant of yours believes in having two strings to his bow. According to him, the colonel's mission might or might not prove a success; so it was as well not to depend on it altogether. People say one fool makes many, and it was certainly so in this case. Learning that the 9th Honveds were to be dismissed, Mecsey pounced on the men, and wheedled them into promising their help. Then he came to me, explained what was going on, and asked me to lead. I pointed out the wickedness and folly of the scheme, but Mecsey was far superior to arguments. With a proper leader, he said, the men would win; without one they would fail; and if I wanted the thing to be wrecked, of course I wouldn't join. Well, to cut a long story short, I agreed. We got together all the weapons we could--long knives and axes mostly, though some of us had pistols--and waited.

"Mecsey was just urging me to give the signal for a rush at the platform, when some one in the secret sighted the colonel, and we knew it was all right."

"What an awful thing it would have been!" I exclaimed with a shudder.

"Well," said Dobozy, "the colonel saved the situation by about two minutes. I really believe though that Mecsey was a bit disappointed. He had a swift horse in waiting, and all we had to do was to rush the platform, knock over the soldiers, and carry you off before the Austrians were aware of what was taking place. Mecsey would have made a great general."

"Now, George," exclaimed Rakoczy, when he had finished laughing at the idea of General Mecsey Sándor, "remember we haven't heard yet how you came to fall into the hands of the Austrians. It was rumoured in camp, before the surrender, that you were killed at Debreczin."

"Rumour would probably have proved true, but for the inestimable Mecsey," I replied. "He turned up as usual in the right place at the right moment, nursed me in the house of a good Samaritan, and journeyed with me to Vilagos. There we parted, as I expect he's told you."

"Yes; and the reason," said Rakoczy warmly.

"Well, instead of helping you out of a scrape, I got into one," and I related my adventures while with the band of robbers.

Both my listeners expressed astonishment at the conduct of Count Beula, and Dobozy frankly praised the bandit-chief for having hanged him.

"Yet he bore himself like a thorough soldier in the field," said Rakoczy, who rarely looked at the dark spots, even in the sun. "You may depend his nerves were overstrung. As to this Batori Gabor, I knew him well years ago. He belongs to a good family, but he fell foul of the Austrian police over some political matters, and took to the plains. I understand he did the enemy no end of damage during the war."

"He must be a daring fellow," exclaimed Dobozy with enthusiasm. "That was a bold venture, to creep into the kitchen amongst all those hussars."

"Almost as bold as Mecsey," I answered with a laugh; "but it is perhaps as well neither of them succeeded."

"Better," said Rakoczy, "as success in either case would have made you an outlaw; whereas you are now a free man."

"With liberty to visit Vienna whenever you like," laughed Dobozy; "but isn't it almost bed-time?"

Here, practically, my adventures with the red, white, and green flag come to an end. From that night in my old home with Dobozy and "John the Joyous" I date the beginning of a new life.

Gratitude, of course, and my promise to the dying baron took me to Vienna, where my reception encouraged me to pay several further visits, and in process of time my old friend's forecast was fulfilled. Theresa became my wife after her mother's death, and now there is no keener Magyar in all Hungary than Madame Botskay.

Every year we spend a couple of months in beautiful Pesth, and generally another month with the paralyzed Count Arnim and his wife, with both of whom Theresa is a great favourite, as indeed she is with most people.

The redoubtable Mecsey Sándor, who makes as faithful a steward as a soldier-servant, fairly worships her; and this is the more wonderful, because the honest fellow heartily detests the whole German race.

Mecsey is perfectly happy and comfortable, and spends his leisure time in describing over and over again the stirring events of the great campaign.

Occasionally Arthur Görgei--now a poor man living in retirement--comes to see us, and I need hardly say that no one save "John the Joyous" himself is ever more heartily welcomed.

Some men--but none on my estates--call him a traitor, and assert that he sold our country to the Russians. If Görgei betrayed his country, we of his army were accomplices in his treachery, and this is the proof.

We marched hundreds of miles, often bare-footed, over rough and stony ground; we half froze in the winter's cold, and fainted beneath the scorching heat of summer; for weeks together we lived on a scanty ration of black bread and water; we stormed fortresses and fought terrible battles when the odds were all against us; and the man whose spirit, courage, and leadership made these things possible was Arthur Görgei.

If such deeds as these were acts of treachery, then indeed were we all traitors, and our leader was far and away the greatest.

But the men who spoke thus wildly applauded Louis Kossuth as the most glorious patriot in history, and Kossuth was a fugitive in the land of the Turks!

It is the usual rule that the losers should be called on to pay for the game, and our opponents adhered to it closely.

With the exception of Görgei and Klapka, our chiefs were seized by the Austrians, and, after a mock trial, sentenced to death. Aulich, Damjanics, Nagy Sándor, with ten others, all perished on one day; while at Pesth the high-spirited Batthiany, the true leader of the national party, was shot in the presence of several thousands of his sorrowing countrymen.

Hungary indeed lay crushed under the heel of her Russian and Austrian conquerors, but since that day many events have happened. Our liberties have been restored, and now our country takes its rightful place as the ally and not the vassal of the haughty Hapsburg dominion.

A quarter of a century later, when my own boys, Stephen and John, were springing into early manhood, we all journeyed to Pesth to see the Emperor Francis Josef crowned King of Hungary.

"John the Joyous" was with us, and though his hair was sprinkled with white streaks, his heart had never felt lighter.

The boys were chiefly occupied in gazing at the gorgeous spectacle--the ermine-trimmed velvet cloaks of the councillors, the flashing mail of the nobles, the sparkling diamonds and precious stones, the magnificent horses, the robes and mitres of the officiating priests.

To them it was a splendid procession; to us it was the fruition of hopes long deferred.

We thought of Görgei, of my brother Stephen, and of all the gallant men who had laid down their lives for the cause, and I think it was something more than the sun's rays which brought the water to our eyes.

And when the Austrian Emperor, robed in the embroidered mantle of St. Stephen, and crowned with the sacred crown, swore as King of Hungary to guard her rights and liberties against all foes, our hearts were full.

We felt that in the years long past our loyalty to the red, white, and green flag had not been altogether in vain.

THE END.