"The blood of your family is on my hand," he whispered. "You have let dishonour come on me, and mourning on yourself."
The young man's head sank on his breast in silent anguish.
"Take his hand," said Jolanka, in her low, sweet accents; and then, turning to Imre, "He saved your life—he saved us both, and he will rescue our family too."
Imre looked at her in astonishment.
The Decurio seized his arm, and drew him aside. "She does not know that they are dead," he whispered; "she was not with them, and knows nothing of their fate; and I have consoled her with the idea that they are all prisoners. She must never know the horrors of that fearful night."
"But sooner or later she will hear it."
"Never! you must leave the place and the kingdom. You must go to Turkey."
"My way lies towards Hungary."
"You must not think of it. Evil days await that country; your prophets do not see them, but I know, and see them clearly. Go to Turkey; I will give you letters by which you may pass in security through Wallachia and Moldavia; and here is a purse of gold—do not scruple to accept it, for it is your own, it belonged to them. Promise me, for her sake," he continued earnestly, pointing to Jolanka, "that you will not go to Hungary."
Imre hesitated. "I cannot promise what I am not sure I shall fulfil; but I shall remember your advice."