Part 16 (2/2)

”You are right,” rejoined Tzifra. ”They take us to the election as they do cattle to the market.”

They had scarcely left the room when the dusky face of Peti was seen to emerge from a heap of coats and cloaks. The gipsy had listened to their conversation. He left his hiding-place, stole from the room, and hastened away to St. Vilmosh.

It is now our pleasant duty to turn to a far different scene from that which we were compelled to place before our readers, any of whom, if they have ever loved, can easily guess the sensation with which Akosh mounted his horse on the eve of the election, and, leaving the streets of Dustbury, hastened to Tissaret. Night had set in, and his absence escaped observation. A dense fog covered the plain between Dustbury and Tissaret, and the horseman found it difficult to keep on the path which led through the meadow-lands. But he did not feel the searching coldness of the night air, nor was he inclined to stop by the watch-fires of the shepherds, and to dry his clothes. He hurried on, for Etelka had promised her brother that he should meet Vilma, to whose house he now directed his course.

Strange though it may appear to the less initiated into the mysteries of the human heart, Tengelyi's influence with his family, though paramount in every other respect, was eclipsed by the superior power of their feelings; Vilma and her mother knew of young Rety's visit, and expected him with great eagerness and anxiety. Mrs. Ershebet's time and attention were indeed taken up with the cares and anxieties which fill the heart of a Hungarian housewife who is expecting and preparing for the reception of a favoured guest; but when the evening wore on, when the turkey[13] was on the point of over-roasting, and the pastry drying up,--and when the good woman looked at the clock and saw its hands approaching to eight, she shook her head, and, looking out at the kitchen-door into the drear and misty night, she was fairly overpowered with fear.

[Footnote 13: See Note IX.]

She went to Vilma's room, and, in order to lighten the load of anxiety which pressed upon her own heart, she commenced consoling her daughter.

”I am sure he will soon be here,” said she; ”but the worst is, my supper will be spoilt. But do not be afraid, child. There is indeed a dense fog--you cannot see over the way--but then Akosh knows his road in the dark as well as by daylight. There are no wolves about the country now; no, indeed! and he does not care whether he rides by day or by night.”

And Mrs. Ershebet laughed, and appeared rather amused than otherwise by Akosh's staying away. But her words had a far different effect from what she intended. Vilma had never once thought that any misfortune _could_ befall him she loved; and when her mother's words directed her attention to the possibility of an accident which might happen to Akosh, she became painfully alive to all sorts of dangers by which she fancied him surrounded.

”Good G.o.d!” cried she, ”if any thing happens to him, it is I who am the cause!”

”Oh!” said Mrs. Ershebet, anxiously, ”he is on good terms with the robbers, his horses are safe, he knows his way, and it is quite ridiculous to think that he should have strayed into the mora.s.ses of St.

Vilmosh.”

Vilma opened the window; and when she saw the thick fog, she shuddered to think that Akosh was alone on the heath. Half an hour pa.s.sed amidst the greatest uneasiness; at length the sound of a horse's hoofs was heard in the distance. Mother and daughter listened anxiously, and their surprise was any thing but agreeable, when the door opened, and, instead of Akosh, the Liptaka entered the kitchen. Vilma, scarcely able to repress her tears, cried out:--

”Oh, mother! now I am sure he is lost!”

”Perhaps he has not been able to get away,” said Mrs. Ershebet; ”at least, not early enough. He'll come to-morrow.”

”To-morrow!” cried the Liptaka: ”do not tell the girl such a thing. Mr.

Akosh would not stay away--nay, that he would not!--even if there were as many thunderbolts as there are drops of rain. Akosh too late! Is there a finer fellow in the county? I do not speak of the gentlemen, for it's easy to be a better man than any of them; but he beats us vulgar people, and in our own line, too. He is as strong as any that ever wore a _gatya_[14], and he is as bold as any _szegeny legeny_[15] in the world; and should he be afraid of darkness and rain? No, no, missie dear! any man will brave death for such a sweetheart as you are!”

[Footnote 14: See Note X.]

[Footnote 15: See Note XI.]

”Don't be foolis.h.!.+” said Mrs. Ershebet, highly flattered; ”Vilma is no man's sweetheart.”

”No matter,” said the Liptaka, shaking her head; ”it's what we poor people call a sweetheart. But never mind; come he must and he will, though the darkness of Egypt were on the heath.”

”I am sure he will come,” said Vilma, trembling. ”Akosh is so bold! he knows not what danger is; but it is that which frightens me. The night is dark; and how easily can he have met with an accident!”

”The night is indeed dark,” replied the Liptaka, with great earnestness; ”but are not G.o.d's eyes open in the darkness? Not a sparrow falls from the roof without His will, and He protects the righteous on their paths.

Fear nothing, missie sweet!” added the old woman: ”young Mr. Rety is in no danger. Perhaps he will suffer from the cold; but the fire of your eyes will warm him soon enough. A sorry thing it would be, indeed, if such a fellow could not manage to ride from Dustbury to Tissaret. Ay, indeed, if he were a fine gentleman, as the others are: but no! Akosh is a jewel of a lad. _I eat his soul._[16] I suckled him when a child, and I ought to know what stuff he is made of.”

[Footnote 16: See Note XII.]

”Oh, Liptaka, I wish he were here!” whispered Vilma, while her mother walked to the other room. ”I am so afraid.” And the Liptaka replied in the same tone: ”I, too, should be sorry to see your mother go to the kitchen. There are others who have come from a longer journey, and who dare not enter until Mr. Rety is here.”

<script>