to compliment the brave heroine, who on this occasion seemed to experience that extraordinary pleasure peculiar to the lucky hunter.

"Nicholas, my son, do the boars grow as large as that in Transylvania?"

The Transylvanian, already somewhat out of sorts from his recent accident, could not let this pass without denying that there was anything in Hungary better worth having than Transylvania could produce, so he answered sulkily, "Yes, indeed, and even larger." No reply possible could have so angered the knight as this;—to say to an excited hunter that there is better game anywhere than that he has just praised; and still more, that had been laid low by his own darling.

"Good, my son, good," growled the knight, "it remains to be seen."

With undisguised signs of annoyance on his countenance he turned aside from the ill-natured Transylvanian and gave orders to have the game carried back to the hunting castle. On the way thither he spoke no word except to his dear one, whom he flattered and extolled to the very heavens.

It was already late in the afternoon when the hunters sat down to their meal. The simple but appetizing food had been arranged on a large grassplot in the middle of the forest; wine and joy thawed out their spirits and they talked of this and of that, of the war and of the chase, of beautiful women and of poesy, which at that time was in great favor among the upper circles. But in spite of the merry conversation the knight could not keep from asking, in a tone of reproach, "So, then, there really is better game in Transylvania?" until the repeated question became irksome to the young man, who had not intended his reply to be taken with such seriousness.

The bald head saw the situation and attempted to give another turn to the conversation by taking up his beaker and proposing this toast;—"May God put the Turks in good spirits."

The knight in his vexation overturned his glass and replied angrily, "That He shall not! I have not grown old fighting against them to turn round now and pray for them. He is a fool who changes only to find a new master."

"The Turk is a gracious master for us," said the young man, with an ambiguous smile.

"Didn't I say so? With you, even the Turks are finer and greater than with us. So it is; in Transylvania everything is better than it is in Hungary; the boars are larger and the Turks are smaller than with us."

While they were talking the old huntsman David approached his master and whispered in his ear. The features of the knight lighted as by magic, and springing from his seat he cried,

"Give me a gun."

Seizing his silver-mounted rifle, with a happy expression he said to his guests:

"Just stay here, there is a colossal boar near by. You shall see him, my son," he said, touching Nicholas on the shoulder. "Twice already have I given him chase, but this time I will have him. He is the genuine descendant of the Calydonian boar."

With that the knight directed his steps in eager self-forgetfulness toward that part of the forest pointed out by the huntsman, whom he commanded to turn back, for he would have no one with him.

"I do not know why it is," whispered Helen to the youth at her side, "but I feel as if I had cause to fear some peril threatening my uncle." The youth rose without a word and took his rifle. "Do not follow him," called out the Transylvanian when he noticed this move, "you would only anger him. Never fear, he will do it alone. A man that has wiped out entire armies of Tartars will surely be able to manage an unreasoning beast." And in this way the young man was held back at the very moment of departing. The men went on drinking and the maiden continued with her thoughts, from time to time glancing anxiously toward the forest. Suddenly there was a shot heard in the forest; all set down their glasses, and looked expectantly in that direction. A few moments later came the cry of a boar in pain; not the sound of a boar at the point of death, but the rattling sound of an interrupted struggle.

"What's that?" each asked of another.

"Surely he would call if he were in peril."

With that came a second shot.

"What's that?" all shouted, and sprang to their feet. "Up! Up!" cried the maiden, trembling in every limb, and the entire company hurried in the direction of the shot.

The knight had gone only a few steps into the forest when he came upon the boar at the foot of a great oak. It was a monstrous boar with long black bristles on his back and forehead; his skin like iron lay in thick folds on his neck and his feet were long and sinewy. He had dug himself a litter in the brush, where he now lay. Where he had laid his monstrous head he had torn up by the roots shrubs as thick as one's arm. When the monster heard the steps of a man he raised his head, opened wide his jaws and looked sidewise at his opponent. In order to get a better aim the knight had dropped on one knee, and shot through the sedges at the beast just at the moment when he raised his head. Instead of hitting the skull the ball entered the creature's neck, wounding but not killing him. The wounded animal sprang up, and in his charge at the knight struck his crooked tusks together so that the sparks flew. Such a furious attack might easily have been avoided by a spring to one side, but the knight was not the man to avoid his antagonist. He threw down his gun, tore his sword from its scabbard, stood face to face with the boar and dealt a blow at his head which might have cleft it through and through; but the dangerous stroke fell on the tusk, and upon this, hard as stone, the sword was broken in two at the hilt. Stunned by the blow the boar, though he plunged at the knight with his tusks, inflicted only a light wound in his thigh, at which the man seized the animal by the ears with both hands and a furious struggle began. Without weapon he fought the beast which turned its head with grunt and groan, but the steel-like grasp of the man held his broad ears with irresistible might and when the creature raised himself on his hind legs to throw his opponent, the knight with giant strength gave him a push and threw him over backward. True, he fell too as he did so, but he was on top and raising himself up, pressed down the wild beast struggling in vain against his superior strength, and seated himself in triumph on his belly. The boar seemed to be entirely conquered. His glazing eye grew dim, blood streamed from jaws and nose, he had ceased to roar and made only a rattling sound; his legs contracted, his nose hung down; in a few moments he must certainly die. The knight should have called to his comrades, only a little way off, or kept quiet until the boar bled to death, but this took too much time. He remembered that he had in his girdle a Turkish knife and he thought to put a quick end to the struggle, so he pressed down the head of the boar with one knee, that he might be able to spring when he drew out his knife at his side, and with one hand seized his girdle. Just then, a shot was heard in the forest; the overmastered boar, feeling the pressure of hand and knee lightened, with his remaining strength threw the knight off and dealt one last blow with his tusk. This blow was fatal—it tore the man's throat.

The guests and relations hurrying to him, found the hero dying beside the dead boar. With cries of sorrow they strove to bind his terrible wound.

"It is nothing, my children, nothing," said the knight, even then dying, and he was gone.

"Poor knight!" said the bystanders.

"My poor fatherland," cried Helen, raising to heaven her eyes heavy with tears.

The day of rejoicing was changed to one of mourning; the hunt to a funeral feast.