The Red, White, and Green Part 33

We had gripped one another, as it were, by the throat, and hung there like bulldogs.

When I look back at that terrible fight, I find the picture for the most part blurred and indistinct; but there is just one tiny part of it whose colour is vivid and its drawing bold.

It will always be so, I suppose, though I do not care to see it.

Over and over again I had gone out of my way to avoid the gallant leader, had plunged with foolhardy recklessness into the greatest dangers, and he had followed my steps with strange persistence.

I do not think he had a moment's suspicion who I was until at last the chances of the fight brought us face to face.

That is the one corner of the picture where the colours have not faded.

All around is a blur; but two figures stand out lifelike.

One is that of a youth with torn uniform, his smoke-begrimed features working with excitement, his sword held in the most awkward manner either for attack or defence.

The other is the figure of an old man, his breast covered with medals and decorations, of commanding carriage, and with a proud look in his keen blue eyes.

Close by, my fancy paints the face of a beautiful girl gazing mournfully at the youth and the old man--the Magyar and the Austrian.

I know it is not really there, yet I see it as plainly as I did on that terrible day in the years gone by.

The tide had at last turned in our favour; the Austrians were yielding slowly, when their leader made his final effort. Cheered by his voice, they rallied once more, and then it was we met.

The look which flashed from his eyes to mine occupied the merest fraction of a second, yet I shall never forget it.

I read there astonishment and sorrow, then a certain hardness, as if the brave old warrior were calling duty to his aid.

With him the struggle ended, and the soldier, not the friend, gained the victory.

I saw his determination quite plainly, and yet could not bring myself to parry the blow. Who could tell what might happen if once our swords crossed?

Theresa was looking into my eyes, and, as I lowered my weapon, she smiled upon me approvingly and vanished.

Perhaps the baron would have drawn back; but he was in the very act of delivering his stroke, and I nerved myself to meet it.

The sword shone red in the glow of the flames; but before it descended another piece of steel flashed past me, and pierced the baron's chest.

Mecsey Sandor had no scruples in killing any one to save his master's life, which the faithful fellow undoubtedly had done.

At the fall of their chief the Austrians abandoned the position, upon which I ordered the regiment to fall in a little beyond the burning houses.

Just then a man clapped me lightly on the shoulder, saying, "Thanks, George!" and, turning, I beheld the colonel.

The men recognized him too, and broke into hearty cheering.

"We have suffered so severely," I said, "that I stopped the pursuit."

"Quite right. Let others follow; we must see to the wounded, or they will be burned to death. The barricade's in a blaze, and--"

"The baron!" I exclaimed. "He lies there, dead or dangerously wounded.

Let me have some men."

"As many as you please. Dobozy--"

I hurried off at once, and, selecting a score of fellows, ran to the barrier, which appeared to be enveloped in flames. True, it was not quite as bad as that, but we had barely time to remove the injured and some of the dead when the whole pile fell in with a crash, and the heavens were reddened by a broad sheet of flame.

I found Von Arnstein just where he had fallen, and had him carried to a house some distance off, where I went, immediately the work of rescue was finished.

Our comrades had been equally successful in other parts of the town, and Waitzen was in our hands, though we had paid a heavier price for it than was reckoned on.

In a state of utter dejection I entered the room where the baron lay on a bed, and it scarcely needed the surgeon's significant gesture to kill the tiny germ of hope in my breast. I crossed the room with noiseless steps and looked at the dying man.

The surgeon had cut away a part of his coat and s.h.i.+rt, the more easily to get at the wound, but a glance showed even to me that all his skill was vain.

Mecsey Sandor's arm was strong, and in defence of his master he had struck with all his might.

The veteran's face was bloodless, but he lay quite still, and I rejoiced to think he suffered little pain.

As I bent over him his eyes opened, and he gazed at me languidly, but without a sign of recognition.

"Baron," I said softly, "don't you know me, George Botskay, the young Hungarian you saved from prison? I was once able to do a little service for your daughter."

How much of this he understood I cannot say, but the last word certainly made an impression, for a happy smile lit up his wan face, and he murmured to himself what sounded like "Tessie."

This I took to be an endearing name for his daughter.

His strength was soon exhausted, his eyes closed again, and I thought he was dead.

"No," said the surgeon, "he will rally at the end; it cannot be far off."

"An hour?"

"More likely two. He is a strong man, or he would have gone before this."

Borrowing a piece of paper from the owner of the house, I wrote a note to Rakoczy, requesting leave to stay with the baron, and sent it by a soldier. Then I sat down by the bedside to wait for the end.

CHAPTER XIII.

_A VISIT FROM STEPHEN._

The surgeon, who could do nothing further, slipped out quietly, asking as he went if he should send any one to bear me company.

I shook my head, preferring to keep that solemn watch alone.