The first horseman reaches the castle gate and winds the signal horn. The drawbridge sinks groaning down; the horseman springs into the courtyard and places a letter in the hands of the flurried castellan. It is Paul Beldi's messenger. The horseman who next arrives at the castle orders the gates to be opened in the name of the Prince. He hands the castellan a second letter. It is Ladislaus Csaky. The castellan grows pale as he reads this letter. "My lord," says he, "I have just received a message from Paul Beldi, threatening us with death in case any harm befalls the prisoner." "You have your choice," answered Csaky. "If you obey me, Beldi may perhaps cut off your head to-morrow; but if you don't obey me, I'll cut off your head myself this instant." The trembling castellan bowed submission. "Up with the drawbridge!" commanded Csaky. "None must enter this castle without my permission. Whoever acts against my orders is a dead man!" * * * * * The spouses lay tranquilly sleeping in each other's arms. A minute later the door creaked on its hinges, and the Rev. Stephen Pataky, tearful and terrified, entered the dungeon. His heart died within him when he saw the consorts sleeping so calmly side by side. He stepped up to Banfi to rouse him. As he touched his hand, Banfi awoke, and perceiving Pataky, who could not speak for emotion, tried to disengage his head from his wife's encircling arm without awakening her. At that very moment Lady Banfi opened her eyes. Pataky, wishing to conceal the fatal message from her, addressed Banfi in the Latin tongue-- "_Surge Domine! sententia lethalis adest!_"[58] [Footnote 58: Arise, sir, the death-warrant has come!] Lady Banfi, terrified by these mysterious words, the meaning of which Pataky's face so ill concealed, asked in mortal fear what was the matter. "Nothing, my darling! nothing!" said Banfi, embracing her with a tender smile. "A pressing message which I must attend to at once. I'll be back again soon! Lie down and sleep gently!" With these words he persuaded his wife to fall back upon her pillow, kissed her repeatedly with great tenderness, and soothed her caressingly between each kiss--"My soul! my delight! my love! my heaven!" The wife little suspected that this was the parting kiss of a man about to meet his doom; Banfi looked at her so smilingly, feigning a joyful countenance as he stood on the threshold of death. Then the castle horn again sounded. The Princess's first messenger had arrived, and demanded admittance in her Highness's name. Csaky rushed hastily up-stairs, and just as Banfi, after half reassuring his consort, was about to quit her, suddenly burst open the door, and cried-- "Why so long a leave-taking? Get ready! The sentence stays for execution!"