THE COUNT’S STRANGE GUEST.

Southern Cross, Volume 1, Issue 9, 27 May 1893, Page 14

THE COUNT’S STRANGE GUEST.

The sky was black as night, the Tain fell in torrents, the wind was liowling through the swaying pines, -while clap after clap of thunder awoke all the' echoes of the-rocky hills, which started to view ever and anon in a, blinding glare of lightning - , only to vanish again in deeper darkness. It was a night when no one who could help it would have cared to he out "upon the wild Hungarian mountains between Kagy-Marad and Ivoloszvar ; and so, evidently, thought the tattered, half-starved man who was straggling up the drenched and slippery hillside. •‘lf I had with me half-a-dozen of the brave lads who lie dead yonder,” he growled, “ I shouldn’t need to slink into the forests like a hunted wolf. Where on earth have I got to, I wonder ? I must keep clear of the ’ villages, for every one knows me here,” Just then a brighter flash than usual showed him the towers of a castle a little way above him, and his sudden start showed that he recognised them. • Karolyi Castle ! This is running into the lion’s mouth indeed. Were the Count to guess that I was within his reach, my head would be on the highest of those turrets in a trice, I’ll warrant.” He turned as if to take flight, but in.another moment faced round ag’ain, and setting his teeth doggedly, went straight up towards the castle gate. “ Let him kill me if he likes,” muttered he. “ A little more of this would soon make an end of me and I’d rather die by a brave man’s hand than be starved by inches like a homeless dog.”. Supper was over in Karolyi castle, and the guests had retired, but the Count himself and one of his friends stood watching - the storm from the shelter of a turret. “ Well, the Gromi (mountaineers) won’t trouble us much after this last beating we’ve given them,” said Karolyi,, laughing grimly, “ especially if Mor (Maurice) Raez himself was ■ killed, as our men say.” “ I wish we could have actually seen him dead, though. That fellow has more lives than a cat, or he couldn’t have so often escaped the hands of your Excellency, the best ■swordsman in Hungary.” “ Some say Mor Racz was better,” growled the Count; “ but although I’ve often crossed blades with him, one can’t judge of a man’s swordsmanship in the thick of a battle. If he were alive now, and we could have a quiet half-hour together, with no one to disturb us, we’d soon settle which -v y as the better man.” “ Done! ” said a deep voice from the darkness below. “Who’s there?” cried Karolyi, peering over the battlements into the gloom. p “ Come down and you’ll see,” anJ? swered the unknown. Down went the Count without hesitation, although, for all he knew, he might find there a band of armed men ready to cut his throat. But all that he found was the ragged stranger already mentioned. “ Come in, man, whoever you are,” exclaimed the Count heartily. “ I wouldn’t shut out a dog on a night like this.” “Before you admit me, hear who I am,” answered the stranger proudly. 4 ‘ My name is Mor Racz.” “What! not dead after all ?” cried Karolyi, in a tone of satisfaction which might well have surprised any one who knew that this man was. his deadliest enemy. “Come in! come in! We’ll have a chance at last of trying which of us is the better swordsman; but I suppose,” he added, with a keen glance at his enemy’s haggard face and wasted figure, “ that you’re hardly in fighting trim just now.',” “ I have not tasted food,” answered the'mountain chief, “ since my comrades fell.” , “ Two whole days, eh ? Well, we’ll S';on put that to rights. Just wait for me here one moment.”

He rah upstairs, apologised for bidding his friend good-night, by saying that a man had come to him upon urgent business, and then returned to Racz, whom he, led into a small room on the ground floor, and set such • a meal before him as the hunted man had not seen for many a day. ■ • Mor ate like a starved wolf; and when he was at length filled (or rather when he could hold no more), the Count, who had watched his performance with considerable amusement, led him up to one of the turret chambers, and taking the key out of the door, placed it in his hand. A momentary gleam of pleasure lighted up Racz’s worn face. He understood that his enemy was too proud to secure him by locking him in, and he felt grateful for the courtesy. “ Sleep well,” said the Count, as he closed the door; “and to-morrow at daybreak we’ll try which of us can kill the other.” When the Count came to the turret next morning he found his strange guest already astir, and fairly started at the latter’s altered appearance. After all his sufferings, one good meal and one night’s rest had sufficed to recruit the mountaineer’s iron frame ; and as he stood there, with the light of battle in his great black eyes, and an elastic quiver of repressed strength in his long, sinewy limbs, he looked a match for any man upon earth. The Count locked the door inside, and offered the two swords that he had brought with him to Racz, who took one without a word. The next moment the blades met and the battle began Karolyi was a splendid swordsman, but this time be had met his match. In vain he tried countless feints and passes which had never failed him before ; Mor’s blade seemed to play around him like a flash of lightning - , meeting and baffling - him at every turn. The swords shot forth showers of sparks as they rasped together, and the vaulted room echoed with the clash of steel, the stamping of feet, and the hard breathing of the combatants. Suddenly Mor attacked in his turn, and for a few moments the quickest eye could not have followed the blades as they darted to and fro, rising, quivering, falling-, and rising - . All at once a sharp crash was heard, and the Count’s sword blade, broken off within an inch of the hilt, fell ringing upon the stone floor. Ary other man would have given himself up for lost; not so Count Karolyi. Quick as lightning he snatched up his cloak, twisted it round his left arm, and was about to rush upon his adversary with no weapon save the broken sword. But Mor drew back and flung - down his weapon. “We have been enemies,” said he proudly, “but Mor Racz cannot strike an unarmed man. Get yourself another sword, and we will begin again.” “Not I, my brave fellow,” cried Karolyi, grasping the mountain chief’s strong brown hand warmly in his own. “We have been enemies as you say ; but when a man can spare his enemy’s life in the heat of battle, as you have just spared mine, any warrior in Hungary may be proud to call him friend; and friends we will be henceforth.” And they were so. —Selected.