"But how is this, Father Roger?" Peter asked in high good humour, after some inquiry as to his brother's welfare; "how is this? Talabor, deák announced you as 'Abbot.' What is the meaning of it?"
"Quite true, sir! Thanks to his Holiness and the King, I have been 'Abbot' the last month or two; but just now I am on my way to Pest by command of his Majesty."
"What! an abbot travel in this fashion, on foot! Why, our abbots make as much show as the magnates, some of them. Too modest, too modest, Father! Besides, you'll never get there! Is the King's business urgent?"
"Hardly that, I think; though—but, after all, why prophesy evil before one must!"
"Prophesy evil?" repeated Dora.
"Prophecies are in the hands of the Lord!" interposed her father quickly. "Good or bad, it rests with Him whether they shall be fulfilled. So, Father Roger, let us have it, whatever it is."
"The King's commands were that I should be at Pest by the end of the month," answered Roger, "so I shall be in time, even if I do travel somewhat slowly. As for the prophesying—without any gift of prophecy I can tell you so much as this, that something is coming! True, it is far off as yet, but to be forewarned is to be forearmed, and I fancy the King is one who likes to look well ahead."
"But what is it, Father Roger? do tell us!" cried Dora anxiously.
"Nothing but rumours so far, dear child, but they are serious, and it behoves us to be on our guard."
"Oktai and his brethren, eh?" said Master Peter, with some scorn. "Oh, those Tartars! The Tartars are coming! the Tartars are coming! Why, they have been coming for years! When did we first hear that cry? I declare I can't remember," and he laughed.