Thereupon Aaron reined his horses toward the mountain gorge he had pointed out, and they began their dangerous journey over a rough wood-road that led through the ravine.

At one point it ran along the brink of a precipice, and as they paused to breathe their horses the rumble of wagons on the highway from Torda fell on their ears, sounding like distant thunder in the still night.

Then, to the north and south, red lights began to glimmer on the mountain peaks.
"How beautiful!" exclaimed Blanka, as she gazed at them.

Little did she suspect that they were beacon-fires calling to deeds of blood and rapine.
A turn in the road at length conducted the travellers through a gap in the mountain range, and they had a view of the moonlit landscape before them.

A noisy brook went tumbling and foaming down the ravine, and over it led a wooden bridge, at the farther end of which could be seen a rude one-story house surrounded by a palisade.