"When did you last see your family?"
"It is now four months since I left Nemesdomb."
"And when did you last visit Körös Island?"
"I have never been there at all. My father bought that summer residence while I was abroad, and since my return I have had no leisure for summer vacations."
"Very well, sir. I think now I understand you perfectly. With my poor wits I can easily see that a person of your importance would prefer not to surrender himself a prisoner to the first corporal or sergeant that comes along. You wouldn't enjoy being driven through the nearest market-town with your hands tied behind you,—the sport of your enemies. Now supposing you let me lead you, by lonely paths where we sha'n't meet a soul, to the house of an acquaintance,—an out-of-the-way place,—where you can write a letter to the Austrian commander-in-chief, and quietly wait for things to take their course. A thousand things may happen in the meantime. Why should you rush to your destruction? Wait and let your fate come to you, I say, and meantime keep your pipe lighted. If I were a great lord, that's what I should do."
"I accept your offer, my good Boksa," returned Ödön. "Your head seems better than mine. Conduct me whither you will."
"All right!" responded the other. "Let us mount and be off."
Throughout the night the full moon lighted the two travellers on their way. Many stretches, too, of dry, hard ground were encountered, where more rapid progress was possible than among the bulrushes and tall reeds. The horses, moreover, found occasional forage, stout grass and blackberry bushes being abundant. Toward morning they came to a river, and here Boksa and his charge rested in the hut of a fisherman who was known to the ox-herd, and who served his guests a hotly spiced fish-chowder. After partaking of it Ödön stretched himself on the rush mat, and, wearied as he was with his long wanderings, slept as soundly as a tired child. When he awoke, Boksa was sitting on the door-sill near him.
"Near sunset," was the answer.