"Sister-in-law," cried Alexander, "don't go out! Don't let her go out!"
But it was too late. Two horses stood before the door, and on one of them sat Zenobia. Blanka ran to her and took her hand.
"Have you come at last?" she exclaimed. "Oh, how long we've been looking for you! Let me help you down."
Zenobia, however, sat silent and made no move to dismount.
"There he is." Zenobia pointed to the other horse, on whose back was bound a swathed form--a corpse.
"Your brother killed my father," Zenobia continued in a monotone, "and my brothers killed your brother; and so it will go on now for nobody knows how long."
Blanka was stricken speechless with horror, but Anna, who followed her, broke out in lamentations, until a strong hand was laid on her from behind and Aaron's voice was heard saying:
"Don't cry, don't make a noise! If the people inside hear you, they'll come out and tear Ciprianu's daughter to pieces; and she is now our guest."
"Alexander," said Aaron, softly, turning to his brother, "go in and tell the gipsy band to play a lively reel. The company must be kept amused."
"Manasseh," whispered Aaron, "come and help me lift our brother down from the horse."
These words were to Manasseh like a dagger-thrust in his heart. His knees trembled under him. But presently he manned himself and hastened to untie the ropes that held the inanimate form on the horse's back.
Zenobia meanwhile went on talking in a low tone to Blanka. "In the skirmish at Felvincz, the Hungarians had one man killed, and he was the man. His horse carried him until I found him. You invited us to your wedding, and here we are. Now you may, if you wish, take me in and say to your guests, 'This is the daughter of that Ciprianu whose sons laid waste Sasd and Felvincz and killed Jonathan Adorjan.'"
"Away, away!" stammered Blanka, waving her hand. She was terrified at the thought of Zenobia's being found there by the people of Toroczko, and perhaps suffering violence at their hands.
"Go in peace," said Aaron. "My people will not pursue you. Let bygones be bygones between us. We owe each other nothing now."
"I owe you nothing, Aaron, but I owe something to your sister and your sister-in-law for the very kind invitation they sent me; and that is a debt which I will yet repay. To you, Manasseh, I have to say, remember those parting words on Monastery Heights: 'We make peace with you and swear to keep it; but if a traitor from your own number stirs up dissension between us, then tremble!' Think of those words often. And now farewell, and God bless you!"