“Save yourself,” she cried; “do not linger here on my account another instant.”
“And sacrifice you, my consort, to their fury?”
“They will not hurt me, for they do not pursue an innocent woman. God will defend me. You go into Transylvania; there live good friends of mine, whose husbands and fathers are the leading men in the State; there is the heroic Princess, there is the gentle Béldi with her angel daughter, there is Teleki’s daughter Flora—we swore eternal friendship together once—they will mediate for us; and then, too, my rich father will gladly spend his money to spare our blood. And if I must suffer and even die, it will be for you, my husband. Save yourself! In Heaven’s name I implore you to depart from me.”
Ghyka reflected for a moment.
“Very well, I will take refuge in order to be able to save you.”
And he pressed the pale face of his wife to his bosom.
“Make haste,” said Mariska, “I also want to hasten. If die I must—I would prefer to die among Christians, in the sight of my friends and acquaintances. But you go on in front, for if they were to slay you before my eyes, it would need no sword to slay me; my heart would break from sheer despair.”
“Come, sir, come!” said the old courier, seizing the hand of the Prince and dragging him away by force.
Mariska got into the carriage again, and told the coachman to drive on quickly. The Prince allowed himself to be guided by the old courier along the narrow pass, looking back continually so long as the carriage was visible, and mournfully pausing whenever he caught sight of it again from the top of some mountain-ridge.
“Come on, sir! come on!” the old servant kept insisting; “when we have reached that mountain summit yonder we shall be able to rest.”
Ghyka stumbled on as heavily as if the mountain was pressing on his bosom with all its weight. He allowed himself to be led unconsciously among the steep precipices, clinging on to projecting bushes as he went along. God guarded him from falling a hundred times.
After half an hour’s hard labour they reached the indicated summit, and as the courier helped his master up and they looked around them, Nature’s magnificent tableau stood before them; and looking down upon a vast panorama, they saw the tiny winding road by which his wife had gone; and, looking still farther on, he perceived that the carriage had just climbed to the summit of a declivity about half a league off.
Ah! that sight gave him back his soul. He followed with his eyes the travelling coach, and as often as the coach ascended a higher hill, it again appeared in sight, and it seemed to him as if all along he saw inside it his wife, and his face brightened as he fancied himself kissing away her tears.
At that instant a loud uproar smote upon his ears. At the foot of the steep mountain, on the summit of which his wife had just come into sight again, he saw a troop of horsemen trotting rapidly along. These were the pursuers. They seemed scarcely larger than ants.
Ah! how he would have liked to have trampled those ants to death.
“You would pursue her, eh? Then I will stop you.”
And with these words seizing a large grey rock from among those which were heaped upon the summit, he rolled it down the side of the mountain just as the Turks had reached a narrow defile.
With a noise like thunder the huge mass of rock plunged its way down the mountainside, taking great leaps into the air whenever it encountered any obstacle. Ah! how the galloping rock plunged among the terrified horsemen—only a streak of blood remained in its track, horses and horsemen were equally crushed beneath it.
With a second, with a third rock also he greeted them. The cavasses, at their wits’ end, fled back, and never stopped till they had clambered up the opposite ridge; they did not feel safe among the plunging rocks below and there they could be seen deliberating how it was possible to reach the road behind their backs.
Guessing their intention, the Prince sent his servant to fling a rock down upon them from the hillside beyond, which, as it came clattering down, made the cavasses believe that their enemies were in force, and they climbed higher up still.
“There they will remain till evening,” thought the Prince to himself; “so they will not overtake Mariska after all.”
And so it conveniently turned out. The cavasses, after consulting together for a long time fruitlessly as to what road they should take to get out of the dangerous pass, began to yell from their lofty perch at their invisible foes, threatening them with the highest displeasure of the Sultan if they did not allow them to pass through in peace; and when a fresh shower of rocks came down by way of reply, they unsaddled their horses and allowing them to graze about at will, lit a fire and squatted down beside it.
Meanwhile, the hunted lady, exchanging her tired horses for four fresh ones in the first Transylvanian village she came to, pressed onwards without stopping. Travelling all night she reached Szamosújvár in the early morning. The Prince was no longer there. He had migrated in hot haste, they said, before the rising of the sun, to Klausenberg.
Mariska did not descend from her carriage, but only changed her horses. Three days and three nights she had already been travelling, without rest, in sickness and despair. And again she must hasten on farther. It was evening when they reached Klausenberg. The coachman, when he saw the towers in the distance, turned round
