The Decurio hesitated. "He should not have delayed so long," he murmured, pressing his hand against his brow; "all would have been otherwise."
"Oh! let me go to him; if you know where he is."
"I do not know, but I am certain he will come here if he is alive—indeed he must come."
"Why do you think that?"
"Because he will seek you."
"Did he then speak—before you?"
"As he lay wounded on that couch, he pronounced your name in his dreams. Are you not that Jolanka Bardy whom they call 'The Angel'? I knew you by your golden locks."
The young girl cast down her eyes. "Then you think he will come?" she said in a low voice. "And my relations?"
"He will come as soon as possible; and now you must take some food and rest. Do not think about your relations now; they are all in a safe place—nobody can hurt them more."
The Decurio brought some refreshment, laid a small prayer-book on the pillow, and left the orphan by herself.