Fulfil your destiny, plot your wicked scheme's against us, and then at last, broken, humbled, scorned of all the world beside, come back to us and sue for pity at the door of those to whom you have shown no pity.

God's will be done!" Manasseh allowed himself to use no reproach, no word of withering scorn, in thus addressing his enemy.

He even spoke in German, to spare the fallen man's shame in the gipsy's presence.

He had the horse in readiness for its master, and bade the fiddler help him lift the injured rider into the saddle and tie him there with ropes to ensure him against a second fall, especially as one foot was now unfit for the stirrup.
"Aha!" cried the little gipsy, "a good idea! We'll take him alive and show him off in Toroczko." The fires in the village made the spirited horse restive and hard to manage.

Manasseh took him by the bridle and led him out of the church, the gipsy following at the animal's heels.
"Turn to the right and begone!" whispered Manasseh to the rider, and he caused the horse to make a sudden spring to one side.
"Oh, he's got away!" cried the gipsy, in great chagrin.