Part 17 (1/2)

”For G.o.d's sake!” said Vilma, ”is Viola here?”

The Liptaka's reply was prevented by the appearance of Akosh. To attempt a description of Vilma's joy would be a vain endeavour. No word in any language can convey to those who never felt the like, any idea of the deep, heartfelt happiness which was expressed in her gestures and face, and in the tone with which, calling out her mother's name and that of her lover, she hurried the new comer into the next room.

The old nurse left the room by the opposite door. ”Now for Viola,”

muttered she; ”for he, too, loves his wife. Why, old fool that I am! my eyes have got full of tears in looking at the children! I can't help it; but I must think of my own Jantshy, and how I loved him, and how happy we were; and now the poor fellow is buried in France. It is written, Man shall not sever what G.o.d has brought together; but, for all that, the magistrates took Jantshy from me, and made him a soldier.”

She was roused from these cogitations by a low voice, calling her name.

”Who's there?” said the old woman.

”It is I! Don't you know me?”

”Peti!” cried the Liptaka. ”I thought you were at Dustbury. Where do you come from?”

”For G.o.d's sake, be quiet! Is _he_ here?”

”Who?--Viola?”

”Yes! Whom else could I mean?”

The Liptaka was silent, for she knew that there were false brethren in Viola's gang.

”Do you suspect _me_?” said the gipsy, impatiently. ”I have been on my legs ever since yesterday; but, if _you_ do not know where he is, I must run until I find him, tired though I am.”

”Are you coming to see him on business?”

”I _must_ talk to Viola! I _must_, I tell you!”

”Very well; come with me,” said the Liptaka, moved by the plaintive voice of the gipsy: and, more than half ashamed of having suspected him, she added: ”One _does_ get cautious in this sad time, since there are so many rascals even among the poor people.”

The notary's house was indeed the home of happiness. They say, love spoils a man's appet.i.te; but a ride of twenty miles goes a great way to counteract at least this symptom of the complaint. Mrs. Ershebet had cause to be pleased with her guest, who, fatigued with his ride and starved with the cold, was in that lucky temper in which a man enjoys a warm room and a hot supper.

”Take another piece of this tart,” said Mrs. Ershebet, when young Rety's attention to the dishes began to flag; ”it is not so good as the pastry your wors.h.i.+p is accustomed to, but it is of the best our poor house can afford. It is, perhaps, a little too brown,--for your wors.h.i.+p came later than we expected; but it is very soft. Take some, I pray.”

Akosh--who would have done any thing to escape the _peine forte et dure_ of the tart, protested against Mrs. Ershebet's ceremonious address. ”Am I a stranger to you, that you should call me 'your wors.h.i.+p?' Have you not a kinder name for me?”

Ershebet was confused; but the look which she cast at Akosh expressed so much affection and joy, that the latter, kissing her hand, continued: ”Call me your Akos.h.!.+ call me your son! for that is the t.i.tle I covet most.”

”My dear Akos.h.!.+--my son!--if you will have it so,” said Mrs. Ershebet, with tears in her eyes. ”You are good, you are generous, Akosh. No man in this world is so deserving of Vilma's love: and yet you can have no idea what a treasure the girl really is!”

Vilma embraced her mother, while Akosh kissed her hand; and his soul was moved as he thought of his own mother.

”Is it not too childish?” said Mrs. Ershebet, at length. ”I weep with joy when I see you both, and feel the happiness which you might find in your love; but I forget how many obstacles there are between the present moment and that in which I may call you really and truly my son. Dearest child,” continued Mrs. Ershebet, ”you had better tell them to take the things away:” and, when Vilma had left the room, she pressed Rety's hand, and said, with a trembling voice: ”Akos.h.!.+ I implore you, make my child happy!”

Akosh was silent; but he pressed her hand, and his eyes filled with tears.

”You cannot know--you cannot think--how devotedly the girl loves you!

and if she were deceived; if she----”

”Do you think me so mean, so utterly abandoned, as to make myself unworthy of Vilma's love?”