Lovers were loitering there, and flirtations were in progress, as they are everywhere all over the world, and many were there who seemed happy as the yellow-throated bird that sung in a mulberry tree close by where Cecil lingered over a cup of coffee and a cigarette, and thought of the newness of his surroundings, and the strangeness of his fate, and his purpose in being there--if he had a purpose at all! It was strange--passing strange! In that field by the Morava he set no store upon his life--not even for Mary's sake, as she was lost to him as completely as if she were dead--yet how many who had circles of relations and friends to deplore them, and who doubtless set all necessary store upon their own lives, had perished there, falling 'as the leaves fall when forests are rended.' Was he the same Cecil Falconer, who, but four months before, had been marching to the drums of the Cameronians? An end was put to his reverie by the appearance of the aide-de-camp, who brought him the king's despatches, and that evening he quitted Belgrade. As he gave a last glance at the wayfarers who loitered about the streets and at the doors of the cafes, cigarette in mouth, with their richly inlaid swords and long pistols stuck in their showy scarves, and with muskets slung behind them, looking very picturesque--he thought they would, at the same time, be unpleasant fellows to meet in some lonely place in a land where police are scarcely known. He took a farewell glance of the Danube, studded with tiny villages, their churches and minarets, with Servians on one side fishing in curious little boats, Hungarians on the other tending their flocks, with vast mountains towering in the distance, and then rode quickly on what was now his homeward way. Continuing his journey along the left bank of the Morava, the close of the second day found him, as he supposed, within thirty miles of Deligrad (from which General Tchernaieff had moved to fight his victorious battle), when it became painfully certain to Cecil that he had too evidently taken a wrong path and lost his way, in a very lonely district, where few persons were to be seen, and where neither his German nor Italian availed in making inquiries. Of the Roman road he had been pursuing--a road old as the days of Trajan--all traces had disappeared, and he found himself in a narrow forest path, overshadowed by huge pines, where he would be certain of not finding a guide, as such places are avoided at night, as being the haunt or abode of the _vilas_, evil spirits who can assume all shapes, but especially that of the cuckoo, according to Servian superstition. Hence it was, perhaps, that two wood-cutters whom he saw, fled at the approach of a mounted figure, looming tall in the forest--and these were the men who pocketed the Austrian ducats of Pelham and Stanley.