It was some time in March that Aunt Orsolya had retreated to the cavern, and there she and her companions had remained all through the spring, summer, and autumn, often alarmed, but never actually molested, hearing rumours in plenty, but knowing little beyond the fact that the whole country was in the hands of the Mongols, and that the King was a fugitive.
CHAPTER XVIII.
AUNT ORSOLYA'S CAVERN.
Three fires were burning in different parts of the cavern, and round each was encamped quite a little army of women and children.
Of the men, some were lying outstretched on wild-beast skins, others were pacing up and down the great vaulted hall, and yet others were busy skinning the game shot during the day. Quite respectable butchers they were, these grandees, who had been used no long time ago to appear before the world with the most splendid of panther-skins slung elegantly over their shoulders.
Some of the women were filling their wooden vessels at the springs which trickled out from under the wall of rock; and as they watched the water sparkling in the fire-light they chattered to one another in the most animated way, or told fairy tales and repeated poetry for the general entertainment.
In her own quarters, in the centre of the cavern, close under the wall, Orsolya was seated in a chair of rough pine branches, beneath a canopy of mats, which protected her from the continual droppings of the rock.
Her face was covered with a perfect network of lines and wrinkles, but her dark eyes shone like live coals. Her beautiful silver hair was nearly hidden beneath a kerchief which had seen better days, and her dress, a plain, old-fashioned national costume, was neat and clean in spite of its age. She had a large spinning-wheel before her, and on a low stool by her side, sat a young girl, also employed with a spindle.
It was evident that this latter, a pale, slim creature with black eyes, was no Magyar. Her features were of a foreign cast, her hands were small and delicate, and the charm and grace of her every movement were suggestive rather of nature than of courts.
But the beautiful face looked troubled, as if its owner were haunted by the memory of some overwhelming calamity.