All at once, as if I really were dreaming, from somewhere not very far off a song rang out:—
"Lo! on the mountain top
A valiant man doth stand,
And on his trusty weapon rests
His stalwart good right hand."
It was a man's voice, and I seemed to recognise it.
My first feeling was joy. I was about to meet some old acquaintance in that vast wilderness. It only occurred to me afterwards that this would be contrary to my compact. I was to meet no man who could possibly recognise me.
But it was too late to avoid him now. Only one single path led up to the summit of the Precipice Stone, whether one came from Tordona or from Malyinka, and my songster was evidently coming from the latter place.
The next verse of the song sounded very much nearer:—
"Lo! on his kalpag[69] see
A blood-red nodding plume;
A mantle black surrounds his neck,
His wild eye lowers with gloom."
[69] The tall fur hat, generally plumed, which forms part of the Hungarian national costume.
And now I heard a woman's voice also.
Some one was telling the singer not to sing while climbing.