"Base, cowardly wretch!" he moaned, "was it then part of your mandate to murder my wife also?"
Csaky turned his head away, and said in a hoarse voice—
"Hasten! the time is short!"
"Short for me, but it shall be long for you! For a time is coming when you will curse the day of your birth, and will not be able to die as calmly as I do!—Leave me!—I would fain pray; but I cannot call upon my God while you are nigh!"
Csaky, overcome despite himself, quitted the room.
Banfi laid his hand on his forehead and prayed.
Outside the heavens were thundering.
"O God! who dost thunder on high, take my blood as a sacrifice for my sins, but let not a drop of it fall on the heads of those who shed it! Suffer not my native land to pay the price of my blood! Guard this poor land from every ill! Visit not this people in Thy anger, but be their refuge and their sure defence in the evil day! Forgive my enemies my death, as I forgive them!"
The thunder roared terribly. God was wroth that day. He would not hearken to such a prayer.
"Is your Excellency ready?" inquired Csaky impatiently, whilst the Princess's messengers hammered furiously at the gates, and demanded instant admission.