to the light. Perhaps, too, she indulged in momentary meditation. For
suddenly seizing a number of shawls; which were lying on one of the
couches, she knotted them together, and then striving with all her
force, she placed the heaviest, coach on one end of the costly cord,
and then throwing the other out of the window, and entrusting herself
to the merciful care of the holy Virgin, the brave daughter of
Hunniades successfully dropped down into the garden below.

She stopped to breathe, and to revel in her emancipated existence. It
was a bold enterprise gallantly achieved. But the danger had now only
commenced. She found that she had alighted at the back of the castle.
She stole along upon tip-toe, timid as a fawn. She remembered a small
wicket-gate that led into the open country. She arrived at the gate.
It was of course guarded. The single sentinel was kneeling before an
image of St. George, beside him was an empty drinking-cup and an
exhausted wineskin.

"Holy Saint!" exclaimed the pious sentinel, "preserve us from all
Turkish infidels!" Iduna stole behind him. "Shall men who drink no
wine conquer true Christians!" continued the sentinel. Iduna placed
her hand upon the lock. "We thank thee for our good vintage," said the
sentinel. Iduna opened the gate with the noiseless touch which a
feminine finger can alone command. "And for the rise of the Lord
Iskander!" added the sentinel. Iduna escaped!

Now she indeed was free. Swiftly she ran over the wide plain. She
hoped to reach some town or village before her escape could be
discovered, and she hurried on for three hours without resting. She
came to a beautiful grove of olive-trees that spread in extensive
ramifications about the plain. And through this beautiful grove of