The colour left the young girl's cheek.
"He joined the cuirassiers," continued Gejza, "about two months ago,
and now--we are in opposite ranks."
The sisters looked at each other in consternation.
"_You_ fight against each other!" exclaimed Ilka; "my bridegroom
against my sister's!--O merciful Heaven!"
"And did you not think of us, then?" said Aniko.
"It is the soldier's fate, my friends: he may love, and be happy; but
when the trumpet sounds he must forget love and happiness, and think
only of stern duty."
"Ah, Gejza! you must not fight against each other; we must gain one of
you over to join the other."
"It cannot be, my friends; I know Laszlo well, and he is what I am. A
soldier's place is beside his standard: whereever that leads he must
follow--be it to death, or against his own brother."
"And if you should meet upon the field?"
"It nearly happened a short time ago. In the skirmish of Teteny we
were scarcely fifty paces apart, when we recognised each other. He
suddenly turned his horse's head, I did the same--we both sought
another enemy; and when the battle was over, both our swords were red.
It is the soldier's fate!"
"And could you have killed him?"
"Far rather die myself; and therefore I do not love the sword--I like
the cannon much better. Those soldiers are far happier; they never see
the faces of those they kill, or hear their dying groans. More than
once, when the madness of glory has made my brain giddy, I have heard
my name repeated by the enemy I had cut down--calling to me, 'Thanks,
comrade!' as he fell from his horse; and I have recognised some old
school-fellow, or some officer who had left our own regiment. And
then, when I am alone, that 'Thanks, comrade' always"--
The trumpet sounded before the window. It was the call to march.
The hussar took leave: a short word, a long kiss, a tear hastily
brushed aside, and the next moment he was on his impatient charger,
and neither the tear nor the kiss were to be traced on his calm
countenance.
Again the trumpet sounded--the troop marched forward, white
handkerchiefs waved from the widow's window--an hour afterwards,
Szolnok was once more deserted and silent.
Towards evening, the sound of martial music was again heard; helmets
and cuirasses gleamed in the setting sun. It was the imperial army,
well clothed and mounted, and in perfect order. Their troops formed a
striking contrast to those which had passed in the morning, who were
dejected by want and suffering.
A young cuirassier had quartered himself in the widow's house; he was
the gayest officer in his regiment, and more particularly now, as the
bridegroom of one of the two fair sisters.
Unlike the young hussar, there was no sadness in his tone; and when he
could think of aught but Aniko's bright eyes, victory shone in his
glance--for he loved his profession, and was ready to shed his blood
or win laurels of glory for it.
"Do not fear, sweet friend!" he exclaimed, seeing Ilka turn away with
tearful eyes to weep alone; "I will bring back your bridegroom from
the first battle to pass his captivity with you."
But the jest pained Ilka.
She replied with pride: "Gejza will sooner die than be taken
prisoner."
Weeks and months passed away, and Laszlo's bride was soon to be his
wife.
"The first victory," he said, "shall celebrate our marriage!"
"The first victory," sighed Ilka, "will be _his_ defeat!" and then she
wept bitterly. But when the sisters were together, each restrained her
smiles and her tears so as not to grieve the other.
One day Laszlo whispered gravely to Aniko, "This day week there will
be a battle!" and the warm pressure of his hand seemed to say, "and
our victory;" while the deep blush on the bride's cheek seemed to
reply, "And our wedding!"
Both girls prepared a dress in secret for that day. Aniko's was white
embroidery, as for a bridal; Ilka's was simple black!
* * * * *
The imperial troops remained several months in Szolnok, during which
time they had raised strong fortifications.
An extensive redoubt guarded the _tête de pont_ on the opposite side
of the Theiss. Palisades were constructed to screen the _tirailleurs_
between the entrenchments, before which a little willow thicket
concealed a battery of field-pieces.
Within the fortifications was the pontoon bridge, which the imperial
army had formed after having burnt the great bridge in January.
Before the bridge could be taken, the enemy had first to drive the
troops from their strong entrenchments, and should they even effect
this, they would still be exposed to the cross fire of the redoubt and
the battery concealed in the thicket, and it was impossible to make a
circuit, for the Theiss surrounds two-thirds of the place.
Szolnok is built on the opposite side, and was protected on one side
by the river Zagyva and the impassable morasses of the Theiss, and on
the other by strong ramparts and entrenchments. Within the _tête de
pont_ there were three half-moon bastions, well fortified, and
protecting each other.
The terminus, which lay within gun-shot of a bastion running along the
Theiss, was also strongly fortified by moats and artillery, whose guns
commanded all the defiles leading to it; to the west stood a chapel,
built on a knoll--the only elevated position near the place.
An assault from this side was almost impracticable, according to the
rules of tactics, for these bastions could only be taken by a large
force, with guns of great calibre; and, in case of a repulse, the
besiegers would be cut off from all retreat, and exposed to the whole
concentrated main body of the imperial forces in Pesth.
The Zagyva morasses alone remained partly unprotected, an attack from
that side being considered impracticable.
Patrols were stationed along the right bank of the Theiss, as far as
Czibakhaza, which served as a point of passage to the Hungarians,
though, according to the information of spies, there were no forces
there at present, excepting a few reserve corps, the two Hungarian
_corps d'armée_ having united at Torokszentmiklos, under Vecsey and
Damjanics.
The attack was consequently expected from that quarter; and, according
to the spies' reports, the day was fixed, and the station appointed on
the opposite side of the Theiss.
* * * * *
There is a ferry between Szolnok and Czibakhaza, and the boat is
guided by the simple means of a rope drawn across the river.
The boat was now on the opposite side, some persons having just
crossed with the permission of the imperial party, who kept a patrol
to guard the passage.
On the evening of the expected day, two hussars rode up to the ferry
from the opposite side.
"Do you see that boat?" cried the elder of the two, as they reached
the bank.
"I see it, corporal," replied the other, who appeared to be a recruit.
"Whether you see it or not, we must cross there."
"Very well, corporal."
"Don't argue with me when the order is to cross; we _must_ cross, were
a thousand fiery devils on the other side!--Hej! come out, thou slug!"
he continued, knocking at the door of the boatman's hut.
"_Thou_, indeed!" grumbled a voice from within; "I'll hear something
more civil first!"
"No arguing, nephew, but turn out, unless you wish your house turned
upside down, and yourself left under the clear sky!"
An old grayheaded man appeared. "It is a long time since I was called
'nephew,'" he murmured.
"How old are you?" asked the hussar.
"Some sixty years."
"Pooh! thou art a boy, nephew! I am five years thy senior;
forward!--march!"
As the boat put off with the hussars, a _chasseur_, who was observing
their motions from the other side, called across the water in German.
"Cannot you see that we are hussars?" was the reply, in Hungarian.
The soldier levelled his musket and fired, and the ball went through
the old hussar's csako. He turned impatiently to the recruit, who had
moved his head as the ball whistled past his ear.
"Why do you bend your head?--the balls must fall on one side or on the
other; and thou, nephew, get from under my horse, and pull away by the
rope."
The peasant, who was lying on his face at the bottom of the boat,
never felt less inclined to obey in his life, especially as fifty or
sixty grenadiers appeared from behind the entrenchments, and began
firing on the hussars.
"Dismount and guide the boat," said the old hussar, turning to the
recruit.
The _chasseur_, seeing that the balls had no effect, ran down to the
rope, which he cut with his sword, as the hussars reached the middle
of the stream, and the boat was consequently borne back again by the
current. The old hussar, swearing that he was not done with them yet,
gloomily reascended the bank with his companion, and galloping back to
his troop, which was concealed in a wood at a little distance, he
reported himself to the captain.
"What news, Gergo?" asked Gejza--for it was he.
"It would not do, captain, as I said before; they did not like our
_numbers_, so they cut the rope when we were half over; they might
have allowed me to cross if I had been alone."
"Never mind, Gergo--how did we get over the water before boats were
made?"
"Ah, I thought of that, captain dear; but it is my duty to obey, and
not to argue."
"Now, lads, whoever likes a bath may follow me!" cried the young
soldier, and, spurring his horse, he galloped towards the river
followed by his troop.
It was a beautiful sight to see the hundred and fifty hussars go
through the water, like a flock of wild birds through the air--only
their horses' heads above the foam, and the breeze tossing about the
plumes of their red csakos.
The grenadiers having fired one volley with little or no effect,
suddenly retired, and were at some distance when the hussars reached
the opposite bank.
By this manoeuvre the patrol of the Czibakhaza ferry was cut off from
Szolnok, while Damjanics was meanwhile rapidly advancing towards the
Theiss.
The hussars took prisoners all the couriers and passengers upon the
road; and late at night the _avant-garde_ crossed at Czibakhaza, and
pressed forward on Szolnok, a reconnoitring party sustaining a brisk
fire all the way to Kecskemet.
The same night, Damjanics reached the Theiss at Czibakhaza with his
whole army, and advanced by forced marches on Szolnok, before the
General of the district had been apprised of his approach.
* * * * *
It was a beautiful evening in spring. The sisters sat side by side at
the window of their little chamber, silently watching the stars as
they twinkled into light. Neither spoke, for each feared to grieve the
other by expressing her hopes or fears; but their tears mingled as
they sat clinging to one another, each pale face seeking comfort from
the other--their hands clasped, and their hearts raised in prayer.
To-morrow, one may return triumphant from the battle to lay his
laurels at his bride's feet. And the other--what may be his fate?
Sleep at last brought rest to the weary eyes, and gave back its
restrained feelings to each beating heart, and they appeared again in
dreams. And one spoke, not of war, nor of his country, but of love
alone, eternal and unchangeable; but the other only came to bid
farewell, silently and sadly. And then again she saw him; but his dark
eyes were closed, and the pale moonbeams bathed his dying brow.
Their mother heard them murmuring in sleep, and stole to their
bedsides.
Tears rolled down one pale sleeper's face; while a bright smile was
playing on the other's, and illumined its sweet repose.
* * * * *
Damjanics' army halted opposite Szolnok during the night, after two
hours' march, and awaited in battle order, and without watch-fires,
the signal to resume the march.
The roar of cannon on the opposite side of the Theiss was the expected
signal.
The Hungarian General had seen several campaigns. Whenever he came up
with the enemy, his quick glance discovered as if by instinct their
strongest point, and there he directed all his force, crying, at the
head of his troops, "Follow me!"
His system, however, was not generally approved of in the army. Many
of the Generals affirmed that it was not enough to gain a battle:
attention must be paid to the rules of war, various obligations
attended to for which every General is responsible, proclamations
issued, harangues made, &c.--with all of which Damjanics dispensed. He
was neither a statesman nor a student--he was simply a soldier.
On quitting the Banat, however, he issued the following proclamation
to his enemies:--
"Dogs!
"I retire at present, but I will return.
"If in the meantime you dare stir, I will sweep you from off the face
of the earth, and then shoot myself through the head as the last
Raczien, that no remnant of our race may be left!"[59]
[Footnote 59: Damjanics was by birth a Racz or Raczien, who were the
bitterest enemies of the Hungarians, and committed many excesses and
cruelties during the rebellion of 1848-9. The proclamation is here
translated word for word.]
The results of this first attempt so much encouraged the General, that
he determined, of the many necessary things required of him, to
harangue his troops before the next action, and actually made a vow to
that effect.
* * * * *
It was the night before the battle of Szolnok.
"Singular!" muttered the General, as he paced up and down his tent;
"my spirits were wont to rise before a battle, and now I feel as
anxious as if the thought of to-morrow were unwelcome!" And he strove
to solve in his own mind the cause of such unusual gloom.
Some time after, an _officier de corps_ remarked within the General's
hearing, that to-morrow they should have the famous harangue.
"The tartar take it!" exclaimed the General; "it was that made me feel
as if I could creep out of my skin. But never fear--they shall have
it, and the enemy shall pay for it!"
The General had finished his plans of battle in a quarter of an
hour;--the speech was not ready late in the morning.
Having arranged his troops in order, he rode out before them. They all
knew that he was to harangue them that day, and they knew that it was
as great a sacrifice on his part as if he were to deliver up his
battery to a parliamentary tribunal for half a day.
Halting before the standard of the ninth battalion, he lifted his
csako, grew very pale, and began:--
"Comrades!"
At that instant, the guns thundered across the Theiss.
The General's countenance suddenly brightened--diction and phraseology
were forgotten; and drawing his sword, he cried in a voice of
thunder,--"There is the enemy! Follow me!" which was answered by a
tremendous cheer, while the whole army dashed after their gallant
leader towards the cannon's roar.
* * * * *
Meanwhile, Vecsey's _corps d'armée_ stormed the ramparts on the
opposite side of the Theiss.
The attack, however, was only apparent: the manoeuvre of either party
frustrated the other.
The imperial troops endeavoured to entice the enemy within their cross
fire by charges of cavalry and feint retreats; while the hussars,
seeing the cuirassiers turn in good order, gave the command "right
about," and quietly returned to their stations.
And now the Hungarians prepared to storm the entrenchments; and when
the battalions were almost within gunshot, they advanced their cannon,
and without any impediment poured a vigorous fire on the
ramparts--appearing to expend their whole strength before the enemy,
while their real aim was totally different.
They were only answered here and there by a gun from the ramparts; but
the battery concealed in the wood did not give the slightest
intimation of its existence, it being expected that the enemy would
make an attack, as the place was apparently feebly defended, and the
imperialists engaged on all sides, and, purposely, giving them every
advantage.
But the attack was not made. This continued till about noon. The
distant spectator could observe nothing but the continual motion of
regular masses. One or two troops of heavy cavalry marched quietly up
to the field of action, their helmets gleaming in the bright sun of a
cloudless day. A division of hussars galloped by with drawn swords:
long lines of infantry suddenly formed into squares, and fired on the
passing cavalry. At another point, the treacherous gleam of bayonets
in the moat betrayed the stealthy approach of troops, upon which the
adjacent battery suddenly galloped to a little eminence, from whence
they began to fire. But no regular engagement had taken place; the
"On, Magyar! on!" and the hussars' "Ha! on!" were not yet heard. The
whole was a mere animated play of arms. Trumpets sounded, drums beat,
cannon fired; but they were unaccompanied by battle-cries or dying
groans--death still greedily awaited the onset.
* * * * *
Suddenly the great guns thundered across the Theiss.
Swift and unexpected, like the descent of lightning from heaven, was
Damjanics' appearance at Szolnok, and it was hailed by a tremendous
cheer from the besieging party--life announcing death! Again the
cannon roared.
The besiegers did not find the imperial army unprepared, although this
attack was unexpected; but there were not many troops on that side of
the ramparts, which was principally protected by cannon.
The Hungarians advanced in a semicircle, the Szeged battalion in the
centre, composed chiefly of recruits armed with scythes, on the right
the red-caps, and the hussars on the left.
The enemy's guns opened a deadly fire from every side, and yet they
advanced like the tempest-cloud through which the lightning passes,
changing its form without impeding its course. The balls made fearful
inroads among them--they fell right and left, covering the place with
the dead and wounded; and many a dying soldier, raising his head for
the last time, gazed long and earnestly after his standard, till it
disappeared amidst the fire of the enemy--when, cheering yet again, he
sank to rise no more.
The Szeged battalion came up first with the foe, rushing impetuously
on--for their arms were useless till face to face with their enemy.
They stormed the battery of the terminus, from which the cannon fired
incessantly--one ball sweeping off fourteen at a time; but they only
hastened the more furiously over the dead bodies of their comrades.
One moment more--several guns opened at once, and a hundred mangled
bodies and headless trunks rolled in the dust and smoke. The next
instant, the troops which guarded the battery were scattered on every
side: the artillery stood valiantly by their guns to the last man. As
the besiegers advanced, they were assailed by a hot fire from the
windows of the houses, and from behind the barricades. The conflict
was long and desperate. At last, the tricoloured banner waving from
the windows announced that the besiegers were victorious.
This was the first action in which the Szeged battalion had been
engaged, and for numbers among them it was the last.
Meanwhile the red-caps marched steadily on to the flying bastions.
Unlike the young corps, these troops knew how to give place to the
enemy's balls, and never fired in vain; nor did they cover their eyes
from the fearful carnage around them, as most of the young troops did,
for death was familiar to them in all its forms. This was their
seventeenth engagement, and in each they had been foremost in the
attack.
The entrenchments were guarded by a body of _chasseurs_, who kept up a
constant harassing fire on the advancing troops.
The latter quickly thinned their lines, and forming into chain, rushed
on the entrenchments, heedless of the musket fire--their
standard-bearer foremost in the attack. A musket ball cut the staff of
the standard in two, and the soldier, placing the colours on his
sword, rushed on as before--another ball, and the standard-bearer fell
mortally wounded, holding up the colours with his last strength, till
a comrade received it on the point of his bayonet.
They reached the bulwarks, and, climbing on each other's shoulders,
their bayonets soon clashed with those of the enemy. An hour later,
they were in possession of the ramparts. The _chasseurs_, repulsed by
their desperate attack, retreated to the _tête de pont_, where they
rallied, under cover of some troops which had come to their
assistance. The red-caps were soon engaged with these fresh troops,
and their battle-cry was heard on the opposite side.
Meanwhile Vecsey's troops advanced impetuously to the redoubt, part of
the garrison of which had hurried towards Szolnok, where the action
had begun; but the most desperate engagement was below the chapel. A
regiment of _chasseurs_ were drawn up _en carré_ on the plain, and
were twice charged by the hussars, and twice repulsed; the third time
they succeeded in breaking the square, the horses dashing in among the
bayonets, and in an instant all was confusion. The _chasseurs_
retreated to the chapel bulwarks, where they endeavoured to rally, but
were pursued by the artillery, and, cut off from all possible retreat
to the town, they fled in disorder, and were pursued to the Zagyva;
there, although the most desperate once more made a stand, the rest
were driven into the stream, and many an empty csako was borne down
the blood-stained water.
Suddenly a cuirassier regiment was seen galloping from the opposite
side, towards the scene of action, their helmets and swords gleaming
through clouds of dust. The hussars quickly formed to receive the new
enemy, and, without waiting for their attack, dashed forward to the
encounter.
It was like the meeting of two hurricanes: one a mighty, moving
bastion, advancing in such exact order, it seemed as if the thousand
men and steeds had but one pulse; the other troops, light and swift as
the wind, their spirited little horses neighing and dashing on before,
as if each wished to be first in the encounter; the various coloured
pelisses and plumes of their riders tossed about in the wind, and
their swords flashing over their heads.
"Hurrah! hurrah!--Rajta! rajta!"
The mutual collision broke the order at once. The troops on either
side divided into parties, fighting man to man; here a cuirassier was
surrounded by the hussars, and there a hussar in the midst of
cuirassiers; the attacking party now advancing, now retreating, as the
antagonists on either side gained strength.
For some time only the two standards waving high above, and here and
there a soldier's face, and the gleam of straight and curved swords,
were seen through the smoke and dust; and now the wind blew the dust
aside, and exposed the bright helmets, the excited countenances, the
maddened horses, many of which galloped about with empty saddles,
while their riders lay trodden on the field.
The clash of swords resounded on all sides, mingled with cries of
victory and the groans of death.
A tall and powerful cuirassier galloped about like the genius of
battle--death seemed in each flash of his sword; he rode his third
horse, two having already been shot under him.
Clouds of dust and smoke again veiled the combatants, and nothing
could be seen but the two banners--now pressing forward, now retarded,
but slowly approaching, and cutting a deadly passage towards each
other.
Old Gergo was engaged with two cuirassiers, his ardour unmingled with
the impetuosity of youth; and even in the midst of the fray he found
time to instruct the young recruit, illustrating his theory by many a
prompt example.
A troop of hussars now dashed forward and were met by an equal number
of cuirassiers; their leaders, being on the right of their troops, had
not yet met face to face, but, foremost to the charge, they showed a
good example, while each man fought as if he alone were responsible
for the honour of his party. The right flank on either side pressing
back the foe's left, they both turned round the centre, like a stiff
axle--the hussars occupying the place of the cuirassiers, and the
latter that of the hussars.
In the heat of the action, their leaders recognised each other--Laszlo
and Gejza! But the discovery produced no wavering--both were
determined to conquer or to die.
Meanwhile another troop came up to the assistance of the cuirassiers,
and the hussar captain was obliged to cut his way out from between two
fires, and thus came face to face with his antagonist.
"Surrender, comrade!" cried Laszlo.
"Never!" cried the hussar, as he galloped to the charge.
The sword of death was raised in either hand, their glances darted
fire; for a moment they remained motionless, as if spell-bound, their
swords still raised--the next both turned with one accord upon the
nearest foes. Laszlo's sword pierced the heart of a hussar, while
Gejza dealt such a blow on a cuirassier's helmet that he fell without
a groan, and then, without turning, he cut his way through the enemy's
ranks--"Hurrah! hurrah!--rajta!" And the battle-cry mingled with the
clash of swords and the groans of the dying.
Meanwhile a division of cuirassiers marched rapidly through Szolnok to
take the hussars in the rear.
Suddenly, at the turn of a street, two hundred red-caps stood before
them. Both parties were taken by surprise at the unexpected encounter.
It was but a moment. The next, an engagement took place of which we
find few instances in history, namely, infantry attacking cavalry. The
two hundred red-caps suddenly fired on the cuirassiers, and then,
shouting wildly, rushed upon them with their bayonets; and the veteran
troops, who had stood so many fires, whose valour alone had turned the
day at Mor, were obliged to retreat before the fearful attack.
This circumstance occurred but twice during the whole campaign.
Görgei was the first who attempted it, with the Inczed battalion, at
the time of his first retreat; that same battalion (eleventh) which so
gallantly defended the bridge of Piski,[60] where more than half their
number fell.
[Footnote 60: In Transylvania.]
An old Polish soldier who witnessed the combat, made the following
remark:--"I have seen the battles of the _ancienne garde_, and fought
with the Polish legion, but I never saw men fight like the red-caps!"
By this attack the cuirassiers were cut off from their head forces,
and, pressed by Vecsey on the opposite side, they retreated hastily,
without having time to save their cannon or destroy the bridge after
them.
The imperial forces, thus pressed between two fires, were obliged to
evacuate Szolnok, and retreat among the Zagyva morasses.
After their desperate conflict with the red-caps, the cuirassiers
were again routed by a fresh regiment of hussars, and driven into the
Zagyva; but few of the weary horses had strength to struggle through
the water, and their heavy armour prevented the men from swimming:
thus many sank in the stream.
* * * * *
It was evening when the battle was over. Horses without riders were
galloping about the plain, while here and there a wounded steed
neighed mournfully, as if searching for his master. Powder-waggons and
cannon lay overturned on the field, which was strewed with the dead
and dying.
The trumpet sounded the retreat, and the hussars assembled from every
side, their horses rearing and prancing as if they had come out for
the first time that day.
An hour afterwards, the sound of music was heard in every
_guinguette_, and the hussars' spurs clinked to the gay cymbal and
clarionet. The battle was forgotten; it was now the time for mirth.
Old Gergo treated his comrades. He was rich enough--for he had killed
an officer of rank; and though his pupil the recruit could scarcely
keep his feet, he continued to treat him in spite of his resistance.
"But if we drink it all now, corporal, we shall have nothing left for
to-morrow."
"Don't argue with me, but drink; that's the order now, and to-morrow
will take care of itself;" and the soldiers drank on, while their
companions danced and shouted to the gay sounds. All was feasting and
revelry within the town.
But without, upon the battle-field, what painful sounds hailed the
fall of evening?--it was the fearful groans of the dying! What sad
thoughts called forth those sighs from the parting spirit! Home,
glory, mother, and beloved ones,--never to meet again! The evening
breeze bears them away: whither?
An officer of hussars went over the field with a military surgeon,
while his soldiers bore the wounded away on their arms.
The young officer turned mournfully from one sad spectacle to another.
Here lay a young soldier in the bloom of youth, the point of a sword
had pierced through his cuirass and come out behind; and from whose
hand had that thrust come? a little farther, lay another, whose face
was so cut, and disfigured by the dust, that none could have
recognised it! and now his eye rested on a young hussar who lay on his
back, his outstretched arm still grasping his sword, over which the
fingers were closed so stiffly that it was impossible to release it;
near him an old soldier had died, with his arm around the neck of his
horse, which had been killed along with him, like two old comrades
whom death could not part.
The young officer carefully surveyed the field, and his quick eye
passed none over. He had reached a little knoll, where, half concealed
among some bushes, a white form seemed to move. It was a young
cuirassier officer, who lay with his face buried in the long grass.
The hussar knelt down to raise his head, and called for assistance.
"Thanks, comrade!" said the dying youth faintly, as he turned his face
towards him.
The last rays of the setting sun shone on the handsome, pale
countenance, the closing eyes, and the deep wound just below the
heart.
"Laszlo!" groaned the hussar, "is it thus we meet?"
"Lay me on the grass, brother; I am dying," said the cuirassier
faintly. "Alas! my bride will wait in vain!"
The surgeons examined the wound, and pronounced it mortal; he had but
a few moments to live.
"Tell my bride," said the young man, in scarcely audible accents,
"that my last thought was of her--and bury me where she may come
and"--
The young hussar sobbed bitterly beside his dying friend. "Alas! that
we must part--that one of us must die!"
"God bless you, brother--be happy!" murmured Laszlo, convulsively
grasping Gejza's hand; "poor Aniko!" and his head sank on his
comrade's breast.
The sun's last rays had set, and the pale moon rose, shedding her
quiet beams on the closed eyes and silent lips!
The long-looked-for day had come and gone; that day so full of hope
and fear for the young sisters.
It had brought grief and joy; but the joy was not for the hopeful, nor
the tear for the trembling heart, though one stood at the altar, and
the other at the lonely grave; and one indeed wore the white and the
other the black dress, but neither wore that which she had prepared.