Thirteen at Table | Page 4

feeling
with which she had learnt to return his affection was warmer than even
a sister's love.
The widow lady and the cripple were also in the grandmother's
apartment; the child sat on a stool at the old lady's feet, and smiled
sadly as the young man entered.
"Why that sword at your side, Imre?" asked the old lady in a feeble
voice. "Ah, this is no good world--no good world! But if God is against
us, who can resist His hand? I have spoken with the dead again in
dreams. I thought they all came around me and beckoned me to follow
them; but I am ready to go, and place my life with gratitude and
confidence in the hands of the Lord. Last night I saw the year 1848
written in the skies in letters of fire. Who knows what may come over
us yet? This is no good world--no good world!"
Imre bent silently over the old lady's hand and kissed it.
"And so you are going? Well, God bless and speed you, if you go
beneath the cross, and never forget in life or in death to raise your heart
to the Lord;" and the old lady placed her withered hand upon her
grandson's head, and murmured, "God Almighty bless you!"
"My husband was just such a handsome youth when I lost him," sighed
the widow lady as she embraced her nephew. "God bless you!"
The little cripple threw his arms around his cousin's knees and, sobbing,

entreated him not to stay long away.
The last who bade farewell was Jol‡nka. She approached with
downcast eyes, holding in her small white hands an embroidered
cockade, which she placed on his breast. It was composed of five
colors--blue and gold, red, white, and green.
"I understand," said the young man, in a tone of joyful surprise, as he
pressed the sweet girl to his heart, "ErdŽly and Hungary united! I shall
win glory for your colors!"
The maiden yielded to his warm embrace, murmuring, as he released
her, "Remember me!"
"When I cease to remember you, I shall be no more," replied the youth
fervently.
And then he kissed the young girl's brow, and once more bidding
farewell, he hurried from the apartment.
Old Simon B‡rdy lived on the first floor: Imre did not forget him.
"Well, nephew," said the old man cheerfully, "God speed you, and give
you strength to cut down many Turks!"
"It is not with the Turks that we shall have to do," replied the young
man, smiling.
"Well, with the French," said the old soldier of the past century,
correcting himself.
A page waited at the gate with two horses saddled and bridled.
"I shall not require you--you may remain at home," said Imre, as,
taking the bridle of one of the horses, vaulting lightly into the saddle,
he pressed his csako over his brow and galloped from the castle.
As he rode under the cross, he checked his horse and looked back. Was
it of his grandmother's words, or of the golden-haired Jol‡nka that he

thought?
A white handkerchief waved from the window. "Farewell, light of my
soul!" murmured the youth; and kissing his hand, he once more dashed
his spurs into his horse's flank, and turned down the steep hill.
Those were strange times. All at once the villages began to be
depopulated; the inhabitants disappeared, none knew whither. The
doors of the houses were closed.
The bells were no longer heard in the evening, nor the maiden's song as
she returned from her work. The barking of dogs which had lost their
masters alone interrupted the silence of the streets, where the grass
began to grow.
Imre B‡rdy rode through the streets of the village without meeting a
soul; few of the chimneys had smoke, and no fires gleamed through the
kitchen windows.
Evening was drawing on, and a slight transparent mist had overspread
the valley. Imre was desirous of reaching Kolozsv‡r early on the next
morning, and continued his route all night.
About midnight the moon rose behind the trees, shedding her silvery
light over the forest. All was still, excepting the echo of the miner's
hammer, and the monotonous sound of his horse's step along the rocky
path. He rode on, lost in thought; when suddenly the horse stopped
short, and pricked his ears.
"Come, come," said Imre, stroking his neck, "you have not heard the
cannon yet."
The animal at last proceeded, turning his head impatiently from side to
side, and snorting and neighing with fear.
The road now led through a narrow pass between two rocks, whose
summits almost met, and a slight bridge, formed of one or two rotten
planks, was thrown across the dry channel of a mountain stream which

cut up the path.
As Imre