an one stage
in advance. Every morning he would consume one of his rolls and wash it
down with the lukewarm brackish water of the Maros--and bitter enough he
found the taste of it too. He never quitted the carriage for more than
two or three minutes at a time, and he presented his pistols point blank
at everyone who approached him with inquisitive questions.

Only twice during the night did he allow the horses an hour or two of
rest--and then away over stock and stone again.

The coachman, who was unaccustomed to such queer ways, presently shook
his head every time he received orders to go on further, but by dawn of
day he had had about enough of the job.

"Your honour," said he, "are we going to stop at all? It would do the
horses no harm if they had a little rest."

"What's that to you, you rascal, eh?" roared Mr. Gerzson, "I suppose
you're sleepy, you lazy good-for-nothing? Off the box then, you hound,
you! I'll drive the horses myself, you gallows-bird!"

The old fellow, who had been in the service of the family for twenty
years and had never had so many insulting epithets thrown at his head
before explained that he did not speak for himself but for the horses.

"If they perished on the spot, Sirrah, what business is it of yours?
When one pursues the enemy in time of war, does one think of food or
fodder?"--whence the coachman concluded that there was some one whom the
squire meant to cut to pieces.

It was only when they came to the road leading to Hidvar that the
coachman began to suspect that they were about to go in that direction.
It was now the evening of the second day and both man and beast were
tired to death. It was indispensable that they should stay the night
here, for if they passed Hidvar they would have to go on the whole night
before they reached the next stage--or come to grief on the road, which
was much more probable.

"You will stop in front of the castle!" commanded Mr. Gerzson when they
were crossing the castle bridge.

The coachman looked back and shook his head. He did not like it at all.

"Shan't we turn into the castle yard?" enquired he.

"No!" bellowed Squire Gerzson, so venomously that the "why not?" he was
about to say, stuck in the poor coachman's throat like a fish-bone.

"Now listen to me," said Gerzson, when they had fairly got across to
the other side: "Keep your eyes open and try and take in what I am going
to say to you. I don't know how long I may remain inside ther