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 partially recovered consciousness, and given unmistakable signs of life, were raised from the ground, borne to the Tartar camp, and became the property of the chief, Cadan.

They were barely allowed a few days of rest, in which to recover from their wounds. Then, when their new master was assured there was no longer danger of their dying by the way, he ordered them to be chained together. With a score of others, also linked in pairs, and attached by the centre of their fetters to the stirrup of a Tartar horseman, who bore a lance in his hand, a bow at his saddle, and a quiver of arrows at his back, they were driven onward, with curses and rough blows, towards their captor's home.

After weary months of agonising suspense, a report reached the Lady Agnes that her husband was dead. It is needless to say how great was her grief. Only her religion and her children afforded her any consolation.

The report, however, was a false one; Emmerick and Budiak were spending their days in toil, suffering, and tears. At last, one night, a gleam of hope visited them. As they sank down side by side upon their bed of leaves, Budiak caught sight of an axe, which had been accidentally left in their cell by one of the hired labourers employed in erecting additional sheds for the numerous and overcrowded captives; at the sight, Budiak felt a thrill of hope and gladness.

The night wore on. The watch had been set. Each prisoner had answered to his name, called by the captain of the guard, and the deep slumber of over-wrought strength had fallen upon the wretched band, ere Budiak ventured to reveal to the knight the secret of his newly acquired treasure. Each had the same thought. Chained together as they were, escape was impossible; but, if with this axe they could sever their fetters, they would have a chance of regaining their freedom. With great caution, muffling the sound of the iron links with the folds of their coarse garments, the two captives began their attempt. Alas! all their efforts were in vain; in spite of all that they could do, the ponderous chain remained intact. In despair, each turned aside to weep.

"I am so grieved for you, my poor Budiak!" said Emmerick. "But for your fidelity to me, you would be still free and happy. I can never forget that! "

"Never mind about me, my good lord," answered Budiak; "I can well support my