"You have brought blood on our family, a curse on the country, a curse on me that I did not leave you to die in the hands of the Tartars. Even virtue becomes through you a crime!"
Apafi was contrite. In the presence of his wife all his spirit was gone.
"I did not want to kill him"—he stammered. "I do not now either—and if you wish I will grant him amnesty. Take my seal ring; send a rider to Bethlen after Csaki; show favor to your kinsman and leave me in peace."
The Princess called in a piercing voice, "Who is here?" Among the courtiers who hurried forward, the steward was the first.
"Take four of the Prince's racers," said Anna, meanwhile she wrote the pardon with her own hand, had her husband sign it and stamped it with the seal. "Take this letter and hurry with it to Bethlen castle. If the horse falls under you, take another. Do not delay a minute anywhere; a human life is in your hands."
The grooms led up the racers. The steward mounted one, fastening the rest by the bridle, and chased away.
At about the same hour, perhaps the same minute, Paul Beldi called out to his groom the order to mount the swiftest horse and ride to Bethlen and say to the castle warder that he would cut his head off if Banfy received the least harm at Bethlen. He too did not wish to meet his wife in this hour.
And perhaps in the same hour, perhaps in the same minute, Teleki pressed the hand of his future son-in-law Emerich Tököli, and whispered in his ear;—"We are one step nearer;" under the pressure of the youth's iron hand the betrothal ring that bound him to Teleki's daughter broke, and Teleki regarded it almost as a prophecy that the hand of the youth should be stronger than his.
All Transylvania was alarmed that night. Wolfgang Bethlen could not sleep in his bed the whole night through. Stephen Apor grew so uneasy that he had to make confession: Kornis became so confused on the familiar road home that he was compelled to spend the night under his carriage. And what took place in the heavens? About midnight a shower came up; such that the oldest inhabitant could not recall its like. The lightning set fire to forests and towers, and floods poured from the riven clouds. The alarm-bell sounded everywhere. God's judgment held sway that night. Almost the entire nation was sleepless. Only the reconciled husband and wife slept quietly and sweetly. At times the lady wept in her dreams; tears fell on her pillow; she dreamed of her happy bridal days or of the sweet moment when she laid her first child in her husband's arms. Her husband lay with calm countenance, at odds with the world but reconciled with himself—with the better half of his soul. The happiness which had fled from him in the palace sought him out in the prison. The hanging lamp threw its pale light on their sleeping forms. In this frightful night four single riders galloped separately toward Bethlen castle, hardly a thousand paces apart. By the lightning flashes they saw each other at times and each one struck spurs the harder to his horse. The first rider reached the castle gate and gave the signal with the horn; the drawbridge fell threateningly, the rider sprang into the courtyard and laid a letter in the hand of the warder who hurried forward. It was Paul Beldi's message.