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Imre held out his hand, but the Decurio did not accept it. “The blood of your family is on my hand,” he whispered. “You have let dishonor come on me, and mourning on yourself.”

The young man’s head sunk on his breast in silent anguish.

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

Imre looked at her in astonishment.

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

“But sooner or later she will hear it.”

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

“My way lies towards Hungary.”

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

Imre hesitated. “I cannot promise what I am not sure I shall fulfill; but I shall remember your advice.”

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

They pressed his hand in silence.

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

* Brasso, or Kyonstadt, a town in the southeast of Transylvania, on the frontier of Wallachia.

** A district inhabited by a colony of Saxons.

The Decurio watched the lovers until they were out of sight; and called to them, even when they could hear him no longer: “Do not go towards Hungary.”

He then entered his house. The prayer-book lay open as the young girl had left it; the page was still damp with her tears. Numa’s hand trembled, as he kissed the volume fervently and placed it in his bosom.

When night came on, the Roumin lay down on his wolf-skin couch, where the golden-haired maiden, and her lover before her, had slept, but it seemed as if they had stolen his rest–he could not close his eyes there, so he rose and went out on the porch, where he spread his rug before the open door; but it was long ere he could sleep–there was an unwonted feeling at his heart, something like happiness, yet inexpressibly sad; and, buried in deep reverie, he lay with his eyes fixed on the dark blue starry vault above him till past midnight. Suddenly he thought he heard the report of some fire-arms at a great distance, and at the same moment two stars sank beneath the horizon. Numa thought of the travelers, and a voice seemed to whisper, “They are now happy!”

The moon had risen high in the heavens, when the Decurio was roused from his sleep by heavy footsteps, and five or six Wallachians, among whom was Lupey, stood before him.

“We have brought two enemies’ heads,” said the latter, with a dark look at the Decurio; “pay us their worth!” and taking two heads from his pouch he laid them on Numa’s mat.