Part 38 (1/2)
”Where is Lorand?”
Grandmother remarked my anguish.
”Leave him alone,” she hinted to mother. ”We are not yet in a sufficiently safe place: the driver might hear. Wait until we get home.”
So I had time until we arrived home. What would happen there? How could I avoid answering their questions.
Scarcely had we returned to Master Fromm's house, scarce had f.a.n.n.y brought us into a room which had been prepared for my parents, when my poor mother again fell upon my neck, and with melancholy gladness asked me:
”You know where Lorand is?”
How easy it would have been for me to answer ”I know not!” But what should I have gained thereby? Had I done so, I could never have told her what Lorand wrote from a distance, how he greeted and kissed them a thousand times!
”I know, mother dear.”
”Tell me quickly, where he is.”
”He is in a safe place, mother dear,” said I encouragingly, and hastened to tell all I might relate.
”Lorand is in his native land in a safe place, where he has nothing to fear: with a relation of ours, who will love and protect him.”
”But when will you tell us where he is?”
”One day, soon, mother dear.”
”But when? When? Why not at once? When?”
”Soon,--in ten years.”--I could scarce utter the words.
Both were horrified at my utterance.
”Desi, do you wish to play some joke upon us?”
”If it were only a joke? It is true: a very heavy truth! I promised Lorand to tell neither mother nor grandmother, for ten years, where he is living.”
Grandmother seemed to understand it all: she hinted with a look to f.a.n.n.y to leave us alone: she thought that I did not wish to reveal it before f.a.n.n.y.
”Don't go f.a.n.n.y,” I said to her. ”Even in your absence I cannot say more than I have already said.”
”Are you in your senses then?” grandmother sternly addressed me thinking harsh words might do much with me. ”Do you wish to play mysteries with us: surely you don't think we shall betray him?”
”Desi,” said mother, in that quiet, sweet voice of hers. ”Be good.”
So, they were deceived in me. I was no longer that good child, who could be frightened by strong words, and tamed by a sweet tongue,--I had become a hard, cruel unfeeling boy:--they could not force me to confession.
”That I cannot tell you.”
”Why not? Not even to us?” they asked both together.
”Why not? That I do not know myself. But not even to you can I tell it.