As Numa entered the house, the lovers hastened to meet him. For an instant or two he stood at the threshold, regarding the young man with a look of silent reproach. "Why did you come so late?" he asked.
Imre held out his hand, but the Decurio did not accept it.
"The blood of your family is on my hand," he whispered. "You have let dishonor come on me, and mourning on yourself."
The young man's head sunk on his breast in silent anguish.
"Take his hand," said Jolanka, in her low, sweet accents; and then turning to Imre, "He saved your life—he saved us both, and he will rescue our family, too."
Imre looked at her in astonishment.
The Decurio seized his arms and drew him aside. "She does not know that they are dead," he whispered; "she was not with them, and knows nothing of their fate; and I have consoled her with the idea that they are all prisoners, she must never know the horrors of that fearful night."
"But sooner or later she will hear it."
"Never! you must leave the place and the kingdom. You must go to
Turkey."
"My way lies towards Hungary."