Every year, at the feast of St. Peter, there opens “the fair of the betrothed.” On that day all the marriageable girls of the district are assembled. They come in their best carriages drawn by their best horses; they bring with them their dowry, that is to say, the clothes they have spun, and sewn, and embroidered with their hands, and these are all packed in gaudily coloured boxes; their relatives and women friends and neighbours accompanying them. And then the young men arrive dressed in their best clothes and girt with silken sashes; proudly they strut through the fair; they choose the girl they take a fancy to, they give her a ring and a handkerchief in token of betrothal, and the marriages take place at the close of the fair.

      But it was not in one Of these marriage fairs that Nic Deck had met Miriota. Their acquaintanceship had not come about by chance. They had known each other from childhood; they had loved as soon as they were old enough to love. The young forester had not had to seek her out at a sale. But why was Nic Deck of so resolute a character? why was he so obstinate in keeping an imprudent promise? And yet he loved her, although she had not enough influence over him to stop his going to this wretched castle.

      What a night the sorrowful Miriota had amid her terrors and her tears! She could not sleep. Stooping wt her window, looking out on the rising road, she seemed to hear a voice that whispered,—

      “Nicolas Deck has defied the warning. Miriota has no longer a lover.”

      But that was but a mistake of her troubled senses. No voice came across the silence of the night. The phenomenon of the saloon of the “King Mathias” was not reproduced in the house of Master Koltz.

      At dawn next morning the population of Werst were astir. From the terrace to the rise of the hill, some went one way, some another, along the main road—some asking for news, some giving it. They said that Frik the shepherd had gone off about a quarter of a mile from the village, not to enter the forest, but to skirt it, and that he had some reason for doing so.

      The people were waiting for him, and in order to communicate more promptly with him, Master Koltz, Miriota, and Jonas went to the end of the village.

      Half an hour afterwards Frik was observed a few hundred yards away up the rising road.

      As he did not appear to be in a hurry, good news was not expected.

      “Well, Frik,” said Master Koltz as soon as the shepherd came up, “what have you discovered?”

      “I have seen nothing and discovered nothing,” said Frik.

      “Nothing!” murmured the girl, whose eyes filled with tears.

      “At daybreak,” continued the shepherd, “I saw two men about half a mile away. At first I thought it was Nic Deck accompanied by the doctor, but it was not.”

      “Do you know who the men were?” asked Jonas.

      “Two travellers who had crossed the frontier in the morning.”

      “You spoke to them?”

      “Yes.”

      “Were they coming towards the village?”

      “No; they were going towards Retyezat, bound for the summit.”

      “Two tourists?”

      “They looked like it, Master Koltz.”

      “And as they crossed the Vulkan during the night, they saw nothing near the castle?”

      “No—for they were then on the other side of the frontier,” replied Frik.

      “Have you no news of Nic Deck?”

      “None.”

      There was a sigh from poor Miriota.

      “Besides,” said Frik, “you can have a talk to these travellers in a day or two, for they are thinking of staying at Werst before setting out for Kolosvar.”

      “Provided some one does not speak evil of my inn!” thought Jonas. “They would never care to stay there!”

      For the last thirty-six hours the excellent landlord had been possessed by this fear that no traveller dare henceforth eat and sleep at the “King Mathias.”

      In short, these questions and answers between the shepherd and his master had in no way cleared matters up. And as neither the young forester nor Doctor Patak had reappeared by eight o’clock in the morning, could it be reasonably hoped that they would ever reappear? The Castle of the Carpathians was not to be approached with impunity.

      Crushed by the emotions of that sleepless night, Miriota could bear up no longer. She almost fainted away, and hardly had strength to walk. Her father took her home. There her tears redoubled. She called Nic in a heartrending voice. She would have gone out to find him. And all pitied her and feared she was going to have a serious illness.

      However, it was necessary and urgent to do something. Some one ought to go to the help of the forester and the doctor without losing a moment. That he would have to run into danger, ill exposing himself to the attack of the beings, human or otherwise, who occupied the castle, mattered little. The important thing was to know what had become of Nic and the doctor. This duty fell not only to their friends, but to every inhabitant of the village. The bravest could not refuse to cross the Plesa forests and ascend to the Castle of the Carpathians.

      That was decided after many discussions. The bravest were found to consist of three: these were Master Koltz, the shepherd Frik, and the innkeeper Jonas—not one more. As for Magister Hermod he was suddenly seized with gout in the leg, and had to stretch himself out on two chairs while he taught in his school.

      About nine o’clock Master Koltz and his companions, well armed in case of eventualities, took the road to the Vulkan. And at the very turning where Nic Deck had left it, they left it to plunge into the woods.

      In fact they said to themselves, not without reason, that if the young forester and the doctor were on their way back to the village, this was the road by which they would come; and it would be easy to get on their track once the three were through the outer line of trees.

      We will leave them, to relate what happened at Werst as soon as they were out of sight. If it had appeared indispensable that volunteers should go off to the rescue of Nic Deck and Patak, it was considered to be unreasonably imprudent now that they were gone. It would be a fine conclusion if the first catastrophe were to be doubled by a second! That the forester and the doctor had been the victims of their attempt, no one doubted; and what was the use of Master Koltz and Frik and Jonas exposing themselves to another disaster? They would indeed be getting on when the girl had to weep for her father as she had to weep for her betrothed; when the friends of the shepherd and the inn keeper had to reproach themselves with their loss!

      The grief became general at Werst, and there was no sign that it would soon end. Even supposing that no harm happened to them, the return of Master Koltz and his two companions could not be reckoned upon before night had fallen on the heights of the Plesa.