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Updated: May 22, 2025
"Jolanka!" exclaimed the stranger passionately. She started at the well-known voice, and, uttering a cry of joy, rushed to the window. "Oh, Imre!" she murmured, "are you come at last!" "Can I not enter? can I not speak with you?" The young girl hastened to unbar the door, which was locked on the inside, and as Imre entered she threw herself into his arms, while he pressed her fondly to his heart.
Jolanka felt that Imre was more than a brother to her, and the feeling with which she had learnt to return his affection was warmer than even a sister's love. The widow lady and the cripple were also in the grandmother's apartment; the child sat on a stool at the old lady's feet, and smiled sadly as the young man entered. "Why that sword at your side, Imre?" asked the old lady in a feeble voice.
And she was worthy of the name. A beneficent stroke of apoplexy called him home to his dead in the family vault at Hétfalu. Imré remained no longer in those parts. He settled down on his wife's property with little Elise, and left for ever the place which had such melancholy associations for him. And Peter Zudár went with them. He pursued no more his grim profession.
The room to be defended had a window looking out upon the courtyard, and a door opening upon the passage. Maria was to be the defender of the window, Imré the defender of the door. The doctor, meanwhile, with the nonchalance becoming his profession, was binding up old Hétfalusy's wounds, tearing off portions of his own shirt to serve as bandages.
"O stay, Imre, you cannot look on them; they are all headless!" "My God!" exclaimed the young man, covering his face with both hands, and, bursting into tears he threw himself down with his face upon the earth. His comrades questioned the Wallachian closely as to what he knew about the young girl.
Silently and anxiously they pursued their course, their eyes fixed upon one point, as they seemed to fly rather than gallop along the road. "We are too late!" exclaimed one of the party at last, pointing to a dim red smoke along the horizon. "Your castle is burning!" Without returning an answer, Imre spurred his panting horse to a swifter pace.
The bells were no longer heard in the evening, nor the maiden's song as she returned from her work. The barking of dogs which had lost their masters alone interrupted the silence of the streets, where the grass began to grow. Imre Bardy rode through the streets of the village without meeting a soul; few of the chimneys had smoke, and no fires gleamed through the kitchen windows.
First he returned no answer, pretending to be drunk and not to understand; but on their promising to spare his life, on the sole condition that he would speak the truth, he confessed that she had been carried away to the mountains, where the band were to cast lots for her. "I must go!" said Imre, starting as if in a trance. "Whither?" inquired his comrades. "To seek her!
Imre at last pressed his knee angrily against the trembling animal, striking him at the same time across the neck with the bridle, on which the horse suddenly cleared the chasm at one bound and then again turned and began to back.
He seemed unconscious what they were about. When they had finished the graves they proceeded to open the large pit, but the sight was too horrible, and they carried Imre away by force. He could not have looked on what was there and still retain his senses. In a short time, one of his comrades approached and told him that there were only eleven bodies in the grave.
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