“What would you do?” whispered Feriz, grasping the hand of the Prince, and pulling him back by force under the gate.
For a few moments they stood there in a dead silence, the tumult, the uproar seemed to be coming nearer and nearer—if it were to overtake them?
“Hush!” whispered Feriz, holding his ear close to the door. He seemed to hear footsteps approaching from within and the plaintive wail of a child.
A few moments afterwards there was a fumbling at the latch and a key was thrust into the lock and twice turned. Feriz hastened to open the door and the senseless forms of the two women fell at his feet.
The youth quickly dragged the Prince after him, and recognising Mariska, who still lay in the embrace of Azrael, he placed her in her husband’s arms together with the weeping child.
“Here are your wife and child,” said he, “and now hasten!”
“Mariska!” exclaimed the Prince, beside himself; and embracing the child whom he now saw for the first time, he kissed the rosy face of the one and the pallid face of the other again and again.
That voice, that kiss, that embrace awoke the fainting woman, and as soon as she opened her eyes, she quickly, passionately, flung her arms round her husband’s neck while he held the child on his arm. No sound came from her lips, all her life was in her heart.
“Quick! quick!” Feriz whispered to them. “Get into this skiff. When you get to the other side it will be time to rejoice in each other; till then we have cause to fear, for the whole of the Buda side of the river is on the alert. But I’ll look after them here. On the other bank my servant is awaiting you with the swift horses; mention my name, and he will hand them over to you. On the banks of the Raab you will find another of my servants with fresh relays. Choose your horses, and then to Nógrád as fast as you can. Thence it will be easy to escape into Poland. Do not linger. Every moment is precious. Forward!”
With that he conducted the fugitives to the skiff which was ready waiting for them, and at the bottom of which two muscular servants of his were lying out of sight. These helped them in, Feriz undid the rope, and at a few strokes of the oars they were already some distance from the shore.
Then only did Feriz breathe freely, as if a huge load had fallen from his heart.
“May they not pursue them?” inquired Tököly anxiously.
“They may,” returned Feriz; “but they cannot transport the horses in boats, as the fugitives now sit in the only boat here; the bridge, too, has been removed and they will hardly be able to build another in time on such a night as this.”
The fugitives had now reached the middle of the Danube, when Mariska, who had scarce been herself for joy and terror in her half-unconscious state, suddenly bethought her of her companion who had saved her with such incomprehensible self-sacrifice and energy, and standing up in the skiff waved her handkerchief as if she would thereby make up for the leave-taking which she had neglected in her joy and haste.
“What are they doing?” cried Feriz angrily, seeing that they were attracting attention in consequence.
Fortunately the night was dark and the people rushing down from the bastions could not see the skiff making its way across the Danube; presently its shape even began to vanish out of sight of the young eyes that were watching it.
Feriz looked up to the sky with a transfigured face. Two stars, close together, looked down very brightly from amidst the fleeting clouds. Did he not see Aranka’s eyes in that twin stellar radiance?
Tököly took the hands of the young hero and pressed them hard.
“Once before we stood face to face,” he said with a feeling voice, which came from the bottom of his heart, “then I prevailed, now you prevail. God be with you!”
Then the young Count mounted his horse, and beckoning to his comrades, galloped off in the direction of Gellérthegy.
Feriz stood there alone on the shore with folded arms and tried to distinguish once more the shape of the skiff already vanishing in the darkness.
Nobody thought of the poor odalisque who had saved them.
All at once the youth felt the contact of a burning hand upon his arm. Broken in mind and body, the odalisque dragged herself to his knees, and seizing his hand drew it to her breast and to her lips. She could not speak, she could only sob and weep.
Feriz looked at her compassionately.
“Thou hast done well,” he said gently.
The girl embraced the youth’s knees, and it was well with her that he suffered her to do so.
“I thank thee for keeping thy word,” said Feriz; “look now! that woman was not my beloved. She has a husband who loves her.”
Indescribably sweet were these words to the damsel. In them she found the sweetest reward for her sufferings and self-sacrifice. Then it was not love after all which made Feriz save this woman through her!
The uproar meanwhile was extending along the shore, the pursuers could see that they were on the track of the fugitives.
“We must be off,” said Feriz; “wouldst thou like to come with me?”
“Come with him!” What a thought was that for Azrael! To be able to live under the same roof with him!
Yet she answered: “I will not come.”
It occurred to her that if she were found with the dear youth he would perish because of her. And besides, she knew that the invitation was due not to love but to magnanimous gratitude.
“I want to go over to the island,” she said in a faint voice.
“Then I’ll help thee to find thy skiff,” said the youth, extending his hand to the odalisque to raise her up.
She was still kneeling on the ground before him.
She fixed upon him
