"It was not on you, Decurio, that I fired, but on the hussar," stammered out one of the men, on whom the giant had fixed his eye.
"You lie, traitor! Your ball struck my armor, and had I not worn a shirt of mail, it would have pierced my heart."
The man turned deadly pale, trembling from head to foot.
"My enemies have paid you to murder me?" The savage tried to speak, but words died upon his lips.
"Hang him instantly—he is a traitor!"
The rest of the gang immediately seized the culprit and carried him to the nearest tree, from whence his shrieks soon testified that his sentence was being put in execution.
The Decurio remained alone with the young man; and hastily lifting him, still senseless, from the ground, he mounted his horse, and placing him before him ere the savage horde had returned, he had galloped some distance along the road from whence the youth had come, covering him with his mantle as he passed the bridge, to conceal him from several of the gang who stood there, and exclaiming, "Follow me to the Topanfalvo."
As soon as they were out of sight, he suddenly turned to the left, down a steep, hilly path, and struck into the depth of the forest.
The morning sun had just shot its first beams across the hills, tinting with golden hue the reddening autumn leaves, when the young hussar began to move in his fevered dreams, and murmured the name "Jolanka."
In a few moments he opened his eyes. He was lying in a small chamber, through the only window of which the sunbeams shone upon his face.