his post was established by his own confession,
and it was certainly through his negligence that
the attack took place. The wound of his superior
officer again, although inflicted under great
provocation, was an inexcusable crime. I felt
much sympathy with the man on account of
the trying circumstances into which he had been
thrown, but pity could not be permitted to override
duty. Sentence was, therefore, pronounced;
the only indulgence the court could admit, being
its postponement for an hour, to enable the
prisoner to take leave of his relatives and
prepare for death.

Szelády was placed for safe custody in a stable
adjoining his father's house: a sentry being
posted at the door. His mother, sister, and
cousin—who, after the first shock, bore his
sentence with a composure which seemed to me
strangely unfeeling at the time—were to be
admitted to him in succession, and after they had
taken their farewell, a priest, who had been
captured in the town, would administer the last
rites of religion and attend him to the place of
execution. The interview with his mother and
sister was soon over; that with his cousin lasted
longer—so long, in fact, that the priest
interrupted them before it was concluded. Just
before the expiration of the hour, the priest
came to me with a request from the prisoner to
be permitted to see Carlin once more, but without
witnesses, as he had a last message to
deliver to her. Willing to afford the poor fellow
whatever indulgence was in my power, I
assented to his request. The priest sought Carlin,
brought her to the door of the stable, and closed
it upon her. Some time having passed without
the return of the girl, the priest again went in
to hasten the parting.

He came out presently with a very serious
look, saying, " Poor souls, poor souls! It is
hard for them to part. Grant them a few
minutes longer. I go to comfort the bereaved
mother."

He walked away. A quarter of an hour
passed, and still no sign. Longer delay could
not be permitted, and a corporal with a file of
men were sent in to bring out the prisoner.
They had scarcely entered, however, before a
shout was heard within, and the corporal rushed
out, exclaiming, " Treachery! Michael has
escaped, and the girl, too, has disappeared!"

"Escaped!" I ejaculated, "Impossible!
Surround the place, and look to the priest."

We hurried into the stable, searched it in
every coiner, turned over the bundles of hay
and straw it contained, and even looked into
the racks and mangers, but in vain. Neither
Michael nor Carlin were to be found. His
mother and sister, and the priest, had also
mysteriously vanished, and it was evident that
the repeated interviews were nothing but a
device to gain time for the confederates to
complete their arrangements. Though naturally
annoyed at having been so thoroughly duped,
I cannot say that I felt particularly sorry to
be relieved from a painful duty. Had Michael
remained, the sentence passed upon him must
have been executed; and being persuaded
that the story he had told was true, my feelings
had pulled hard in one direction, while discipline
and the articles of war had tugged just as
vehemently in another. Michael was now,
however, gone, and I was not hypocrite enough to
affect much grief at his escape. The only
mystery I should have been glad to solve, was,
in what way his escape had been effected.

Time, however, would not allow of our devoting
much pains to its discovery. News was received
that the advanced guard of the prince's force
had crossed the Theiss, and was now passing
the wood. I gave orders for instantly evacuating
Szentes, and the Lichtensteiners resumed
their position at the head of the retreating army.
I may here state that the passage of the river
was only just effected in time. Görgei's force
debouched upon the right bank as the last of our
corps was still upon the bridge, and it was under
a heavy fire, and with the loss of many of the
engineers, that our men succeeded in detaching
the pontoons, and thus depriving Görgei of the
means of following us beyond the Theiss. Two
days later we fell in with strong reinforcements
under General Vetter, which placed us again in
a position to hold our own in the next encounter.

In the year '55, long after I had forgotten
the mysterious escape of Michael Szelády, I was
again on campaign with my regiment. This
time, however, the service in which we were
engaged was far less hazardous than that of
attempting to subdue the revolted Hungarians.
The Lichtensteiners formed part of the corps
d'armée under Count Caronini, sent by Austria
to occupy Moldavia and Wallachia, the Danubian
Principalities, during the Crimean war.
Except an occasional brush with some turbulent
villagers, we saw little actual service; and yet
it was during one of these small expeditions that
the mystery which had hitherto involved the
events I have just detailed was cleared up.

Intelligence had been received at Bucharest
that the inhabitants of a Moldavian village had
risen against a company of Croat infantry
quartered on them, owing to some offence given, I
fear, by our men. The Moldavians had besieged
the barracks, set them on fire, and slaughtered
every man spared by the flames. Orders were
given me to see to the suppression of the
disturbance, and to bring the ringleaders to justice.
Two squadrons of the Lichtensteiners had been
considered sufficient for this purpose, and I had
ridden out with my servant—a man who had
attended me for many years—towards a little inn
upon the frontier, where I had given the
commander of the expedition rendezvous.

It happened that we had never been in this
part of the country before. The inhabitants
were peaceable and quiet, and our duties
brought us chiefly into contact with people
of a different sort. It was not singular, then,
that after crossing a wide tract of hilly
country, we strayed from the bridle road,
and in endeavouring to regain it bewildered