"Br-r-rother, those are gend-end-end-armes!"

"Possibly they _are_ gend-end-armes, for there are two of them."

"Put out the fire at once!"

"I would if I could, but I can't now. And if I did, what good would that do? They have seen it already."

"I told you not to make a fire here."

But now Bessy turned furiously upon him.

"It is your stagey spouting that has saddled us with them. What business had you to go declaiming on the mountain tops? The people fancy you are murdering some one."

"They are coming straight towards us," gasped friend Valentine. "If they get hold of me, I am lost."

I tried to rea.s.sure him: "Come, come! recollect there are two of us; with my loaded cudgel and your revolver we shall offer a stubborn resistance."

"Br-r-other, they have guns which hit at four hundred yards, while my revolver has only a range of thirty, and it doesn't always. .h.i.t the mark even then. We cannot risk so much. It is quite another thing when I am in the dark cave, and they are out in the light, for then I can see them, but they can't see me."

"Then you'll hide away in your cave, I suppose?"

"Oh, not for my own life's sake, but for the sake of my country, whose fate I carry in my bosom. The heels of my boots are full of secret despatches from England and Turkey. I am not free to stake everything so lightly."

"Well, go and hide yourself, by all means!"

But then Bessy put in a word: "'Tis all very well, but what's to become of me. I cannot crawl on all fours into your big bear-garden."

"Nor would I allow it. Is not our common friend here? He will remain here. _You_ will not run away, will you? I am sure they don't know you.

Your portrait has appeared nowhere, but mine has gone from hand to hand.

A full description of my personal appearance flutters at every street corner. If they come, say that it was you who kicked up that row; say that she is your wife."

"I won't say that."

"Then do what you like. I rely upon you, mind!"

"That's all very well," cried Bessy peevishly, "but what will happen afterwards? If you remain in your hole, and our good friend goes home, what am I to do all alone here by myself on the top of a rock? I shall never find my way home through this wood."

Then my friend, with cheap generosity, made this magnanimous offer:--

"Dear friend, take her home with you."

So that was to be the _denouement_ of this odd drama!

"No, my magnanimous friend. Not so! You go and reserve yourself for posterity. We two will remain here. One of two things is bound to happen. If those two men, armed with muskets, find me painting pictures in my alb.u.m, they will believe either that I am a simple painter (they know that Karoly Telepi is wandering about on a sketching tour here, and they'll take me for him, and Bessy for--my sister); or they'll not believe anything of the kind, and in that case they'll escort us both to Miskolcz. In the latter case you need have no fear of turning back. If, on the other hand, after the lapse of a few hours, you creep out of your cave and see me sitting as before, on the rocky ledge, and peaceably continuing my sketching, then you will know that the armed invasion has pa.s.sed on further, and you can come back again to the Lady Elizabeth.

Then I'll give you my blessing, and we'll return from whence we came--you to the east, I to the west."

With this he was satisfied.

"But don't betray me!" he murmured, casting a terrified look upon us; "even though they hale you off to the block, don't say where I am."

I gave him my word of honour that not even the Spanish boot should extort his secret from me, whereupon he went gingerly down upon all fours, scrambled up the rocky summit by the corkscrew path, and vanished among the bushes.

"Ugh! I only wish he hadn't taken the bread and bacon along with him!"

lamented the girl he left behind him.

"I'll share mine with you; there's enough for two."

And with that I seized my crooked clasp-knife, cut the slice of bread in two, minced the bacon into little bits, and sprinkled it with salt and pepper.

Nor was that all. I rubbed both sides of the toasted bacon with a k.n.o.b of garlic. It was a sort of Oriental language of flowers. I meant to remind her that her ideal of a man was one who did not rinse his mouth after eating garlic.

Thus we were alone on the summit of the Pagan Altar, crouching together beside a fire of burning embers, and dividing a piece of toast and a slice of bacon--I and the former mistress of my heart.

That "former" was not so very long ago. It was scarcely three years since the golden thrushes mingled their songs with our chats. The idyllic contemplation of the matter, however, was considerably disturbed by the concrete circ.u.mstance that, during these three years, a third masterpiece of creation had found in my former paragon the rib that had been subtracted from him while he slept. Her first venture was a fashionable fop, her second an Antinous of the wilderness, her third was now a stage Oth.e.l.lo.

And our feelings were still further subdued by the disagreeable tension occasioned by the approach towards us of two armed men, who kept on popping up before us in the clearings of the forest, now here, now there, but continually drawing nearer to the Pagan Altar. There could not now be a doubt that they were making towards us.

"It would be as well if I set to work and sketched something in my alb.u.m while they are approaching," said I, "in case they inquire what I am doing here."

With that, I sat down on the steep rocky ledge, placed my sketch-book on my knee, and designed the contours of my picture on a grand scale.

The lady sat down close beside me, and observed how I looked now on the hills and now on my paper--but never into her fine eyes.

We did not exchange a word with each other, not a single word.

At last, however, I grew impatient of the silence, and without looking up from my sketch, I said to her: "I really thought that by this time you and Peter Gyuricza had filled the whole world full of b.u.t.ter and cheese."

But then, with both her hands, she seized my sketching hand, so that I had to leave off my work, and said, with a mournful voice:

"You have the most sovereign contempt for me now, eh? But if I were to tell you what frightful calamities I have gone through since last we met, then I am sure you would have compa.s.sion on me."

I told her that if she liked to speak, I could now listen, as I had plenty of time.

"You remember when last we met, don't you? When you banged the door in my face, I mean--though, G.o.d knows, I only meant to do you good then. I never meant to make you so angry, and immediately made the best of my way home to the hut of Peter Gyuricza. Ah! how sorry I then was that I had not pleaded my cause with you better. I had another reason for going to you. When the lawyers took up my case, the fair-haired partner offered me a little money, which I might repay him, he said, when I gained my suit. But I chose to ride the high horse, and rejected the proffered money, although I had really nothing about me but three _huszases_,[71] which I had saved from the proceeds of the b.u.t.ter. That was not even enough for the steam-boat. A couple of florins or so would have done. But, of course, when you drove me out of your room I had to do without."

[Footnote 71: The _husza_--20 kreutzers.]

"I am very sorry that I did not guess your need."

"Still more sorry was I. I was obliged, in my straits, to climb into the cart of a poulterer who was going to Vienna, and who, for two of my _huszases_, found a place for me among the hen-coops. I still had a few _garashes_[72] for my journey, which were sufficient to pay for the straw on which I slept at the inns where we descended. On the third day I arrived safely at Uj-Szony, and by that time I had eaten the last bit of bread and cheese in my basket. In front of the inn stood a lame and paralysed beggar, who begged alms of me in G.o.d's name. I had only two kreutzers still left. I kept back one kreutzer from the beggar, for I knew that I should have to pay a toll on the bridge. Now, that was your fault, look you. You might have inserted a paragraph in the Twelve Articles of Pest abolishing the tolls."

[Footnote 72: A _garash_--3 kreutzers.]

I was furious. I had to erase half my drawing. Bessy laughed at my misfortune, and at her own also. Then she proceeded:--

"From thence I had to make my way home on foot. I could go right along by the banks of the Danube without entering the town. I did not meet a single acquaintance. In front of me I saw a large group of National Guards in blue attilas, hastening rapidly towards the fortress amidst the beating of drums. It must have been a serious business which prevented them from looking at a pretty woman. Then I went nicely and quietly along the well-known way. Like the egg-selling woman in the fairy-tale, I began to consider what I would do when I got back my patrimony. I would go with my Gyuricza right away into Transylvania, there I would buy him a property, where he might rear as many cattle as he liked. I myself would learn to spin like the Pakular[73] women: my husband should wear clothes of my own weaving. I would adorn my bedchamber with embroidered napkins, hang varnished vases all round, and there should be rows of pewter dishes on every shelf. We should have our plum-orchard too, and from the plums I would make _palinka_. I would keep bees, and make mead, and bake honey-cakes, which Peter loves so much when he can get them at the fair. All this time I had never noticed that I was getting quite close to the hut. It was drawing towards evening, and smoke was coming from the chimney. No doubt the little serving-maid was cooking supper according to my directions. How surprised Peter would be when I brought his flesh-pot out to him in the pastures! When I entered the hut I found by the hearth--n.o.body. I went into the room. What do I see? My Peter Gyuricza sitting at the table--with his wife; and they were supping sweetly together out of the same dish, like two turtle-doves!"

[Footnote 73: A village in Transylvania, chiefly inhabited by Wallachs.--TR.]