"That would mean the destruction of us both. They would know in an hour that I had betrayed them, and before dawn we should be again in their hands. The whole neighbourhood is in league with them. In three days' time they will not be able to make out which of the bones are yours. Hasten! Tarry not!"
Sir Simon thereupon vowed to God that if he escaped from thence, and the realm ever righted itself again, he would return thither to release his bride and take vengeance on the murderers of his brother. He did everything that Siona wished. His sword in one hand, his torch in the other, the card of deliverance round his body, he cautiously stepped upon the bridge of sighs, and when it gave way beneath him, he softly descended into the terrible abyss, from whose depths a dull howling greeted him.
"God be with you!" cried the voice of Siona above his head, when he already stood at the bottom of the well. He lifted the torch and lit up everything around him. There lay his brother Michael, his beautiful head crushed to death. The two bloodhounds, which were licking up his blood, fell back before the torch into the darkness; their blood-red eyes sparkled in the distance.
Sir Simon kissed the face of his dead brother, and suffered him not to lie there for the wild beasts, but threw him over his shoulder and carried him through the long corridor till he came to the forest. The two dogs followed him all the way, but dare not attack him because of the torch.
In the forest beyond he dug a grave for the dead body, piled a great heap of stones upon it, cut crosses in the bark of four trees which towered above it so that he might recognize the spot, and earnestly prayed God to allow him to rest there in peace.
The north star now led him onwards towards the Carpathians.
Two nights he travelled continuously; in the daytime he kept closely under cover. On the third day at dawn he beheld in the distance the simple cross on the hilltop, of which the hermit had told him.
It was indeed the Stone of Refuge.
The worthy and valiant Templars, the Red Brothers, as the common folks called them, had built there a place of refuge for the fugitives of the whole kingdom, and whenever a vagrant Tatar band came after them they were bravely repulsed, and could not take them by force.
And in the third year the hand of the Lord swept away from the bereaved Magyar land the hordes of Gog and Magog, and every one returned to his devastated fatherland.