"He will come as soon as possible; and now you must take some food and rest. Do not think about your relations now; they are all in a safe place--nobody can hurt them more." The Decurio brought some refreshment, laid a small prayer-book on the pillow, and left the orphan by herself. The poor girl opened the prayer-book, and her tears fell like rain-drops on the blessed page; but, overcome by the fatigue and terror she had undergone, her head ere long sank gently back, and she slept calmly and sweetly the sleep of exhausted innocence. As evening closed, the Decurio returned, and softly approaching the bed, looked long and earnestly at the fair sleeper's face, until two large tears stood unconsciously in his eyes. The Roumin hastily brushed away the unwonted moisture, and as if afraid of the feeling which had stolen into his breast, he hastened from the room, and laid himself upon his woolen rug before the open door. The deserted castle still burned on, shedding a ghastly light on the surrounding landscape, while the deepest silence reigned around, only broken now and then by an expiring groan, or the hoarse song of a drunken reveler. Day was beginning to dawn as a troop of horsemen galloped furiously towards the castle from the direction of Kolozsvar. They were Imre and his comrades. Silently and anxiously they pursued their course, their eyes fixed upon one point, as they seemed to fly rather than gallop along the road. "We are too late!" exclaimed one of the party at last, pointing to a dim red smoke along the horizon. "Your castle is burning!" Without returning an answer, Imre spurred his panting horse to a swifter pace. A turn in the road suddenly brought the castle to their view, its blackened walls still burning, while red smoke rose high against the side of the hill. The young man uttered a fierce cry of despair, and galloped madly down the declivity. In less than a quarter of an hour he stood before the ruined walls. "Where is my father? where are my family? where is my bride?" he shrieked in frantic despair, brandishing his sword over the head of a half-drunken Wallachian, who was leaning against the ruined portico. 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.