Part 27 (1/2)

He means no harm,” she added fiercely, ”and if Leo wasn't such a beast . . .”

”He has found you out, has he?” commented Andor dryly.

”Not exactly. There was nothing to find out. But Count Feri wanted to come and see me this evening to say 'good-bye,' as he is off to-morrow for some weeks to shoot bears. He couldn't come till about ten o'clock, and didn't want to be seen walking into the tap-room at that hour of the night. There is the back door, you know,” she continued, talking a little excitedly and volubly, ”which my father always keeps locked and the key in his pocket, and Count Feri wanted me to give him the duplicate key, so that he could slip in that way un.o.bserved.”

”Hm!” mused Andor. ”What would your father have said to that?”

”Father is going to Kecskemet presently by the nine o'clock train.”

”And Leopold?”

”Leopold was going with him. He was to have gone to Fiume with the express to-morrow to meet his brother, who is coming home from America.”

”Well--and . . . ?”

”Well! He has changed his mind. He is not going to Fiume. He was watching me all the afternoon like a regular spy. People had told him that at the banquet to-day Eros Bela had been very attentive, so one of his jealous fits was on him.”

”Not without cause, I imagine,” said Andor, with a sarcastic laugh.

”Of course you would stick up for him,” she retorted; ”men always band themselves together against an unfortunate girl. But Leo has behaved like a brute. He watched me while my lord was talking to me, and caught s.n.a.t.c.hes of our conversation. Then my lord sent him out of the room to look after his horse whilst he pressed me to give him the key of the back door.”

”I understand.”

”How could I guess that Leopold would be such a swine! It seems that when he came back he peeped into father's room and noticed at once that the key was gone. He guessed, of course--now he has threatened to tell father if I attempt to go out of this house. He won't let me out of his sight, and yet I must go and give Count Feri a warning and get that key back from him. If Leo tells father, father will half kill me, and already Leo has threatened to strangle me if he finds me on the high road on my way to the castle. My lord suspects nothing, of course . . .”

she added, while tears of impotence and of terror choked the words in her throat. ”He'll come here presently, and as like as not Leopold will do for him.”

She burst into a pa.s.sionate fit of weeping. Andor waited quietly until the first paroxysm of sobs had subsided, and she could hear what he said, then he remarked quite quietly:

”As like as not, as you say.”

”But I won't have him hurt,” she murmured through her tears. ”Leo would kill him for sure. You don't know, Andor, what Leopold is like when the jealous rage is in him. He is outside this house now, watching. And there he will stand and wait and watch; and he will waylay Count Feri when he comes, and stab him with a hideous knife which he always carries in his pocket. Oh! It's horrible!” she moaned, ”horrible! I don't know what to do. What can I do? Andor, tell me, what can I do?”

”What would you like to do?” he asked more gently, for indeed the girl's grief and terror were pitiable to behold.

”Run over to the castle,” she replied, ”and get the key back from Count Feri, and tell him on no account to come to-night. It is only a step; I could be back here in half an hour, and father is asleep in the next room. I should be back before he need start for the station. But Leopold is watching outside. He declared that he would strangle me or else tell father if I set foot outside this house. He is a brute, isn't he?”

”Well, you see, my dear Klara, I understand that you are tokened to Leopold now, and a man has a way of thinking that his affianced wife is his own, and not for other men to hang round her and make a fool of him!”

”Curse him!” she muttered savagely; ”I'll never marry him after this.”

”Oh, yes, you will,” he retorted, with a light laugh; ”you'll like him all the better presently for these outbursts of jealousy. A woman often gets fondest of the man she fears the most. But in the meanwhile you are at your wits' ends, eh, my pretty Klara? You can't think of any way out of your present difficulty, what? And to-night at ten o'clock there will be an awful scandal and worse--murder, perhaps!--and where will you be after that, eh, my pretty Klara? Even if your father does not break his stick over your shoulders, you'll have anyhow to leave this village, for the village will be too hot to hold you. And as your father does mighty good business at Marosfalva, he will not look too kindly on the daughter who, by her scandalous conduct, has driven him to seek a precarious fortune elsewhere. The situation certainly is a desperate one for you, my pretty one, what?”

”You need not tell me all that, Andor,” she said sullenly. ”Don't I know it?”

”It seems to me,” he continued, slowly and deliberately, ”that there never was a woman before quite so desperately in need of a friend as you are, eh, Klara?”

”I have no friend,” she murmured.

”A friend, I mean, who would go and do your errand for you over at the castle, what?--and warn his young and n.o.ble lords.h.i.+p not to show his aristocratic face in Marosfalva to-night.”