The latter fell to his knees, imploring mercy, and declaring that it was not he who killed them.
"Then they are dead!" exclaimed the unhappy youth, as, half-choked by his sobs, he fell forward on his horse's neck.
Meanwhile his companions had ridden up, and immediately sounded the Wallachian, whom, but for Imre's interference, they would have cut down.
"Lead us to where you have buried them. Are they all dead?" he continued; "have you not left one alive? Accursed be the sun that rises after such a night!"
The Wallachian pointed to a large heap of fresh-raised mould. "They are all there!" he said.
Imre fell from his horse without another word, as if struck down.
His companions removed him to a little distance, where the grass was least red.
They then began to dig twelve graves with their swords.
Imre watched them in silence. He seemed unconscious what they were about.
When they had finished the graves they proceeded to open the large pit, but the sight was too horrible, and they carried Imre away by force. He could not have looked on what was there and still retain his senses.