"I swear to you, you are more holy than the saints there on the wall. If your soul condemns you because you only half-love, quiet it by saying that you love me wholly."

"What would you have me do?"

"Follow me now,—this very moment. The way of escape is open. In the summer-house of Madocsany Castle are two horses saddled, the key is in the rear gate; we can escape unnoticed. When the morning dawns, and our escape is discovered, we shall be beyond the mountains."

("My own plan of flight.")

"Leave me, for Heaven's sake, tempt me not. A week to consider."

"No, no!"

"One day then at least, to consider this whole plan of yours. If I am to turn aside from God and all the saints, let me at least finish weeping in their presence; let me tell them why it is I love you more than Heaven."

("Ah, you too know that? And yet you did not learn it from me!")

"Let me go back for a day—just for one day—I must take leave of the memory of my mother, must beg her gentle picture for forgiveness, must collect my few relics, set free my poor little dove, and once more kiss the hand that has so often abased me, but that I still bless. I cannot go with you until I have kissed my father's hand for the last time."

"Very well, it shall be so; but promise me that you will come again to-morrow."

"By my eternal happiness, I will come."

"And follow me out into the world?"

"God pardon me for what I am doing!"

"And so I let you go. God be with you."

And he kissed the maiden's brow.

"Accompany me with your light back into the church; now that I am sinful, I am afraid of the darkness of the church."

Both went back through the door into the passage way, and the door closed behind them. Idalia came out of her hiding-place—the bones of the widow——! She shook the mould off her cloak. She came near letting loose the hot lava of her passion. In the ring of the closed door hung the ring of the secret lock: the name that served as key was Hieronymus. She had only to put the iron pole across the door, shake up the rings, and then pound with her fist on the heavy door, and cry,—"I wish you a pleasant journey, you turtle-doves! You can go out past the two bears, and that third one, your father. I send kind greetings to all three." But she knew how to control herself; it should not be done this way. To-morrow is yet to come, and that shall be the dies irae. She had nothing more to say. She caught up her lantern, and ran hastily back, so hastily that she slipped several times on the damp ground. When she had run about a thousand feet, she looked back. She did not see the torch-light coming near her. Naturally they must take leave of each other, and that required time.

It was still the dead of night when she reached the end of the passage-way. Saint Nepomeck stood aside for her, and then took his place again. Idalia hurried up the secret stairway to Father Peter's room.

The child in his fear had fallen asleep on the bearskin in front of the bed. The mother laid him on the bed and covered him over, and he did not awaken. Then she looked out of the window to wait until the saint's statue came down again. It was a good half hour before the figure of Father Peter appeared from underground. So then their parting must have lasted half an hour. He had escaped through the window; through the window he must come back. She waited until he began to climb up the trellis-work; then wrapped her sleeping child in her cloak and carried him to her own room. Father Peter should not speak with him again.



CHAPTER XII.

THE ICE-BLOCKED FLOOD.

This night was not for sleep. Idalia went from room to room with the death-wound at her heart. She did not herself know what she was looking for. She stopped before her mirror and gazed at herself for some time. Her deep sorrow, her restless passion, had made her face still more beautiful. The tears shining in her eyes lent a peculiar charm to her features. "You lie. I am not beautiful! I am a demon—the demon that pursues him!" The mirror then said to her, "You are hideous." Now she knew what she must do. She sat down to write a letter.

"To his Lordship, Grazian Likovay.

Honored Lord: If you would know whose lover Father Peter really is, keep watch to-night and when you hear the bells ring at midnight,—those bells that you think are rung by spirits, since they have no cord—then, instead of covering up your head in fear, arise and go with your servants into the ghost-haunted chapel; there you shall learn which one of us has cause to go begging for his lost honor. What I have said, I have said—to-night after midnight. If you take warning, well and good; if not, also good. It matters not to me whether you accept it, or whether you do not. You will repent if you listen to me: you will repent still more if you do not.

I remain, your respectful servant,

The widow of Franz Karponay."

She sealed the letter with her own crest. Meantime, it had been gradually growing light. She sent for the Fool.

"Hirsko," she said, "Can one cross the Waag?"

"Hare and hounds can; but man could hardly do it."

"Why not?"

"Because during the night, the ice began to move, and if it has not caught fast on the island, it must be going right merrily."

"Would you dare cross over with this letter?"

"If I had two heads, and could lose one there and leave the other here, I do not say but that I would undertake it."

"Listen, Hirsko; I'll give you a new suit from head to foot, if you'll take this letter through. If you return, you shall have wine enough for a lifetime."

"And if I go to the bottom, I shall have water enough for a lifetime."

"Just try it. It's not so very dangerous. See this purse, it's full of money; that too is yours, if you succeed."

The Fool shook his big head. He was not ready to accept her proposition that he should "just try it, for he could float like a pumpkin."

"Now listen, Hirsko; I know that you have always been in love with me. If you carry this letter over and come back, I'll be your wife."

At this the Fool gave a bound, and then began tugging with both hands at his shoe strings.

"Tira li! You're not joking, just give me a kiss."

Idalia offered her lips to the monster. He hurried out of the room with the letter, down to the Waag, striding along with a six-foot pole. Idalia stationed herself at the balcony window and watched her messenger. The ice had already begun to move on the Waag; single fields of it floated down the centre of the stream, and giant cakes were heaped one above another; only a Fool would undertake such a task. The messenger's figure disappeared at times behind the barricades and then reappeared: now and then, he broke in, and worked his way out again with his pole. After an hour's struggle in the very face of Providence, he reached the other shore.

"He's well over," said Idalia, and left the window. For Hirsko it was hardly well; for Lord Grazian, when he had read the letter, in his first outburst of anger, had him bound and scourged to the full value of a woman's kiss. But the arrow had not missed its mark; it clung fast by the barb to his heart.—

Now Idalia can go to breakfast. Father Peter was already there; his face showed no change.

"I did not find the boy in his bed this morning," he said good-naturedly.

"No, naturally not," she said, with a suppressed laugh. "After you had laid him down, put him to sleep, and closed the door between the two rooms, he awoke, and becoming frightened to find himself alone, ran to me, and he is asleep still."

Father Peter made an effort to appear calm. The lady continued pertly: "Shall I guess why you closed the door between the two rooms? You found in your room a new suit of clothes, and did not wish the child to see you try them on."

There was a whirring sound in Father Peter's head. It was dangerous to say that he had not done so, for perhaps the lady would send for the garments and see that there were traces of mud on the boots. He had to answer the question with a smile. "Yes, you are right."

"Well, how do they fit?"

"That's for another to say."

"And when shall she say it?"

"When I answer your late questions."

"And when shall I get that answer?"

"To-morrow."

The lady clapped her hands with a laugh. "Ha, ha! To-morrow. So you won't keep me waiting a week. Not until next Sunday? To-morrow I shall learn whether you are Father Peter or Tihamer Csorbai! To-morrow, even to-morrow!"

And with that she jumped up and danced the cushion dance, singing enchantingly as she danced. Then she threw the cap from her head at the feet of the man, and knelt on her cap, as on a cushion.

If Tihamer Csorbai had entered into the joke and set free with a kiss the woman on her knees before him, then would she have plunged a poisoned dagger into his heart, and the other woman, at least, would have been saved. But nothing of the kind entered into the knight's thoughts. The woman rose without a kiss, and danced and danced, until she danced herself out of the room. No expression on her face betrayed what was raging in her soul. She went to her room to waken her boy. She was tenderness itself. Young Cupid complained of the frightful dreams he had had in the night. He saw first Father Peter and then his mother push Saint Nepomeck aside and follow each other down to hell.

"You little goose, you ate too much plum-cake last evening."

"But I did not dream this, I saw it with my own eyes. I was in Father Peter's room."

"Oh, you darling, you were with me all night long. I could not cover you up often enough, you kicked about so."

"Where's my little silver whistle?"

"Your little silver whistle! Dear soul, you left that in the land of dreams."

"I am still cold. I am all of a tremble."

"You are feverish, sweetheart; stay in bed to-day, and I'll bring your playthings to you, and make you a nice tea that will make you well again."



CHAPTER XIII.

IN THE GHOST'S HOUR.

Grazian Likovay read the letter through two and three times, and could not understand it. There is nothing more difficult than putting an idea into an empty head. Then he had to call Master Mathias to his help.

"See this letter! A fool wrote it, a fool brought it, and only a fool can understand it."

"It's plain enough to me."

"How so? How so?"

"You've not forgotten, have you, the disgrace you brought on Father Peter at the Bittse wedding-feast? I was there myself. I saw it, and I remember the face you tore the cowl from; it was exactly Tihamer Csorbai's face."

"I hit him a blow that told, didn't I?"

"Yes, you did; but a wound of that kind is not forgotten, especially when it falls on a wound that is not yet scarred over. Now you know Tihamer Csorbai is the rejected suitor of your daughter Magdalene, and that we live so near each other that the two castles stare each other in the eye."

"Then you think the letter is about Magdalene?"

"I am sure there is no other woman in the household. But if all these beautiful women, young and old, hanging in these frames, were living, Tihamer would still give his heart to Magdalene alone. For if a handsome woman were all he asked, he would have had it right there in Madocsany, and he need not have made any pilgrimages for her."

"But just look out of the window. Do you see how the ice is crashing out of the river? When the fool came over, the ice had just begun to move; but now heavy blocks of it are rolling along. See, the huts along the bank have been swept away, and the ice has cut off thick tree trunks like a razor. Do you think a human being could cross the river to-night?"

"Gracious Lord, I have read in the Bible that Peter trod the water with bare feet, and that was a sea. Whatever is in the Bible, as a good Lutheran, I must believe."

"But that was in old times, and it was Saint Peter; he could do anything. To-day is To-day."

"All I know, gracious Lord, is that a priest can do a good deal, a lover can do more, and when you get both in one, he can do everything."

"We must talk it over with Berezowski." The old suitor, since his return from the wedding feast at Bittse, had been staying at Mitosin Castle. It was understood that he should wed the beautiful Magdalene, and take her to his house in Galicia. The license was all ready. The only reason that the marriage had not yet taken place was that father-in-law and son-in-law kept the bottle going from hand to hand until morning, and then the lover had to be dragged off to bed by his hands and feet, and neither a fire alarm nor a murderer's stroke could have roused him from his bed. Afternoons, this bigot Lord would not enter into any churchly ceremony, and so the wedding was put off from day to day; and the wedding feast was secretly consumed by the guests in advance.

To-day too they shook and pulled the bridegroom elect; they roared in his ear; but to all their attempts, his only reply was a movement of the hand to brush away a fly, or of the foot, as aimed at a dog; and then he slept on steadily.

"Wait," said Lord Grazian, "I have an idea. I will question the girl." And he went in search of his daughter. He found Magdalene at an open window.

"Well, my child, you must have hot blood to open the window in such ice-cold weather as this."

"I am giving my doves their freedom. They will have nobody to feed them, if I go away to-day or to-morrow."

"So you know that you are to be married to-day or to-morrow."

"Yes, I know, dear father."

"And you have stopped tearing your hair out and bursting into tears, and crying out, 'I'd rather die a hundred times than marry him!'"

"I will not weep again in your presence, my father."

"Your nature is entirely changed. Has this been since the Bittse wedding feast? When I tore the cowl from the head of your former lover, and you learned that he was now the lover of a beautiful woman—that changed you, did it?"

"That was a frightful moment, father."

"And you do not love the priest?"

"I swear to you, dear father, that I do not love the priest."

"That would be dreadful. I don't know what I should do with you if you dared even to dream of that. But what's this little bag for?"

"I am going to put some little relics in it, that I have kept of my poor mother's; the small medallion with her miniature, a lock of her hair, woven into a flower, and a little silver cross that I used to wear when I was a child. All are to go with me when I am far, far from here."

"You have changed entirely and become a good daughter. I shall live to give you my blessing."

"Oh, do give me your blessing, if only one word," entreated the girl, as she knelt before her father. "Just let me kiss your hand once, and then lay it on my head."

Grazian let the girl draw his hand to her lips.

"Only say that you forgive me all the sorrow I have caused you against my will."

Her entreaty deceived Grazian's sleepy mind.

"That's good, I am not angry with you," he growled out, and with his hand stroked the head of his daughter, kneeling before him; it was meant for something like a blessing. "But now you must consider yourself ready, for the priest is here. To-night we must go to bed early, and get up betimes to-morrow, for to-morrow shall be the wedding."

Then Lord Grazian went back to the room where he had left Master Mathias.

"You're on the wrong track, young man," he said; "I have just shrived the girl. She really is entirely changed. She does not cry at all when I talk about her wedding, and I told her that to-morrow was to be the day. She said, 'Very well,' and kissed my hand very prettily."

"Then that's the very best proof that she has something else in mind. She has said good-bye because she intends to go away to-night with her lover before the wedding to-morrow. That is why she consented so readily. I know women better than that."

"All the devils of Hell! Suppose that should be so! I will eat fire and drink poison if that's true. Wake that Pole up, even if he is half-dead. One can't manage a thing of this kind alone. Rouse the household."

"We will do just the opposite. If we give the alarm, they too will learn it and be on their guard. Instead of that, let everybody drink until he cannot waken himself, and we will drug the bears. There is some secret connection with the church—those bells at midnight, and the ghost in the lighted church that your lordship himself has seen and heard,—all that does not happen without the help of man. There is something underneath it all. Just leave the whole matter to me, my Lord; by evening, I will map out such a campaign as to catch Beelzebub himself if he is in the business."

Until evening there were whispered consultations throughout Mitosin Castle, but the women were kept out of the secret. While Magdalene was at supper, the church was filled with Berezowski's armed servants. The bridegroom, in a violent passion, insisted that he would be present himself. As twilight came on, Berezowski slipped into the chapel, and concealed himself there with his armed followers in the crypt. They had a cask of beer and a checker board to make the time pass more rapidly. When it was hardly dark, Grazian gave orders for all to go to their night's rest, for the next morning they must rub their eyes open early, for there was to be a wedding in the house. The whole night through, not a soul must stir, and cellars and store-houses were to be kept locked. At evening, the students sang the Maiden's song before the windows of the bride's room, and then all the lights in the castle went out. There was as deep a quiet as if no one were awake; only the cracking of the ice on the Waag sounded on the still night.

When the great castle clock struck midnight, Magdalene arose, put on her gown, fastened to her girdle the little bag with its relics, and slipped noiselessly down the stairway to the little gate in the rear that led to the bear den. She looked about her, but the bears were not to be seen. After Candlemas, the bears begin their winter sleep, when the weather outside is raw. The bears did not cross her path. Fearlessly she went to the church-door. From there she breathed one last farewell to the castle of her fathers, that she was to leave forever, and then entered the door. As before, the moonlight fell upon the church, and lighted up the pierced saints, the nameless gravestones, and the altar picture in its carved frame. Now had she reason to fear, for she had learned what those saints suffered from the darts that pierced them. She had learned who slept under nameless gravestones, and the names of those terrible forms that frightened and misled the hermit in the picture.

If her deliverer, if her lover, would only come sooner! The owls in the tower hooted more than ever. Suddenly the bell rang and the altar picture shone brightly. Her lover was near. What a wonderful altar picture that was that appeared in the place of Saint Anthony,—a Saint Ladislaus! This was a genuine Hungarian saint, not one tortured to death by heathen, but one who struck the heathen down! Now he came down from the altar frame to comfort the kneeling maiden.

"It is well that you hurried: to-morrow they are to take me away to Poland. You might never more have seen me."

"Let us hasten, my love."

"Just wait a moment until I offer one last prayer at my brother's grave."

"Let me add mine."

And so the two went and knelt before the monument of the murdered brother, and hand in hand offered their prayer.

"Amen," and "Amen." The girl kissed the bust carved in stone. "You forgive me, do you not, dear brother?" she said.

"How could I help forgiving you, my dear sister?" rang out a hoarse voice from the depths, and with that the crypt door opened, and out plunged Berezowski's armed force, and at their head the wronged bridegroom with drawn sword. In the hand of Tihamer Csorbai too, the sword suddenly flashed.

"Well, if you are no priest, I'll kill you on the spot," roared Berezowski, raising his weapon for a heavy stroke; but Tihamer advanced and struck him under the shoulder, so that his arm dropped. Berezowski himself fell back on the floor without seeing the end of the struggle.

"Back underground again, you cowards!" shouted Tihamer, dealing deadly blows at his assailants, who withdrew before his terrible anger toward the crypt door. Just then, the church door opened and in rushed Grazian's household of servants with torches and weapons; he himself carried only his crutch in his hand.

"Here monk," he cried, "stand, parson, you Father Peter, tempter! You shall be beaten down with a stick." And he rushed blindly toward him with his crutch raised. Magdalene threw herself between the two.

"By all the saints! Father! Tihamer! Do not harm each other, trample rather on me!"

"Out of the way!" growled her father, and with his foot he pushed aside the maiden kneeling before him. Luckily for him, one of his own company had thrown himself in the way, and received on his head the heavy sabre cut that Tihamer had intended for the father. Two more servants fell fatally wounded under the knight's grim strokes, and then his sword broke off at the hilt. But this miserable pack of menials did not conquer him: it was true he had no sword, but on the altar were great candelabra in copper. He seized one of those, and struck such blows right and left that soon his way was free before him. Whoever laid hold of him was glad to let him go again. With one leap he was on the altar: already was he in the altar frame, and behind him lay the secret passage; he had only to open the oaken door and push the bolt, and he was saved. But as he cast a glance from the altar down to the church below, bright with the red light of the torches, he saw a sight that held him riveted fast to the spot: he saw Grazian Likovay seize Magdalene's long streaming hair, and drag the helpless maiden to the church door.

This robbed him wholly of his senses; rage stifled every human thought in his soul. He was now nothing but a wild beast—a lion robbed of his lioness; roaring with anger, he sprang with one bound from the altar to the floor; each hand was armed with the heavy candelabra, and with these as clubs he threw himself on the pack of servants, crushing everything before him in the way of human bones. Like Hercules in his Nessus-shirt, he raged through the midst of the servants and forced his way to the church door where Grazian was dragging his daughter by the hair. He overtook the old man, and dealt a heavy blow at his head, but Grazian caught it with his hand. Somebody from behind threw a cloak over Tihamer's head, another made a plunge at his feet, and soon he was overpowered, thrown down, and bound.



CHAPTER XIV.

THE BEAUTIFUL WOMAN'S REVENGE.

The ice on the Waag rolled more and more mightily! Not within the memory of the oldest inhabitant had it ever been so dangerous before. The icy flood crowded through the brook of Madocsany to the mill-dam, easily broken through, and then it might have found its way to the castle wall.

"See," said little Cupid to his mother, "Why did you push Saint Nepomeck out of his place, you and Father Peter? Now Saint Nepomeck is paying you for it."

"Oh, you've been dreaming."

"No, I saw it! I am still trembling at it."

"If you are trembling, then you have fever. Go back to bed, and don't look out of the window. I'll send Hirsko to tell you a story."

(Yes, Hirsko, who knows where he is now?)

"No, send me Father Peter instead, he'll tell me the truth."

"Very well then, Father Peter."

Since dawn, Idalia had been fully ten times to Father Peter's sitting-room to see if he was at home; but neither he nor his handsome cloak was to be seen. Through the opened window whistled the wind. The lady went out on to her glass-covered balcony and looked in astonishment at the great ice sea which the Waag had changed the valley into, for the time; a sea through the centre of which flowed a swift current, while its borders were of ice barricades, rising mountain high. The four tin-roofed towers of Mitosin Castle were resplendent in the morning sunshine. Suddenly it seemed to her that a black spot detached itself from the opposite bank and made its way through the ice stream. Soon she could see through the glass that it was a boat with five men. What might this boat be bringing? There need be no fear of five men. Here were five and twenty servants, hunters and haiduks already, and all armed with guns and halberds. The men in the boat were making a truly perilous attempt; the masses of ice threatened every moment to sink the boat. Often they jumped out to pull it through the ice blocks. At one moment a giant slab of ice rose and then suddenly plunged down, almost destroying them all, like so many water rats. A man must have a deeply fixed purpose to go to Madocsany such a day. Who could it be? There were four in the crew, it was apparent from a distance. The fifth was so wrapped in his bearskin that he was not recognizable. At last they came in safety to the mill-dam. Then the crew sprang out of their boat, dragged it up on the ice, fastened it to a willow; and now the fifth person, all wrapped in his bearskin, rose and climbed up on the bank. Then Idalia recognized him at a glance—he limped. It was the lord of the neighboring estate. Grazian Likovay was approaching,—her foe in whose heart she had now turned her knife for the second time. But he comes alone—what has he in mind? Was the old bear looking up his former foe, to throttle her, like a wild-cat? The bear would find by experience that the wild cat had claws she knew how to use.

The Lady Idalia wore a long Russian cloak, bordered with fur, and in the broad sleeves was carefully concealed a poisoned dagger, which must by a single scratch inevitably send down to death the strongest man.

At the same time, the haiduks entered the next room as a reserve force, and the steward and manager stood ready to strike down the first man who tried to injure their lady. Unnecessary prudence. Grazian Likovay had come without weapons; he could not have used any, had he had it; for his right arm was in a sling, and his hand was bandaged. Father Peter's last blow with the candelabra had been aimed at his head, but Likovay caught it with his hand, and so maimed it. The left hand was occupied with the crutch and his cap, now removed.

With downcast head and humble soul, dragging the lame foot, Grazian came into the presence of the Lady, and addressed her in a voice like that of a beggar at the door.

"Humbled to the dust, I come, my Lady, to you, a poor, dead, buried old man. I acknowledge that I have been defeated, maimed, destroyed. I also recognize that I deserved it. I was the guilty one. I was the fool. When disgrace reached to the very tower of my own house, I sought it in your cellar. I accused you of a shame that was my daily bread. You were right. May this give you comfort."

"What have you done? I hope that you have not been killing or murdering."

"Oh, don't be frightened. I know how sensitive your heart is. You would have mourned if the wild, foolish Grazian Likovay, in consequence of a good word from you, in consequence of a truly friendly warning worthy of a kinsman and a neighbor, had throttled one after the other, both man and maiden. No, he has not done so; on the contrary, it is we who have been mowed down."

"By Father Peter?"

"Yes, by Father Peter, but in the form of Tihamer Csorbai. He is a valiant knight. First, he all but killed my intended son-in-law, the good Berezowski, and then he crippled two of my brave haiduks, and when his sword broke, seized the church candlesticks and dealt us blows. I received one, I beg you to look at it." And with that he took the bloody bandage off his hand.

Idalia was horrified; she wished to help Grazian bind it up again, but he would not allow it.

"Don't trouble yourself, gracious Lady, with my teeth and my left hand I can bind it up somehow."

"And what became of Father Peter?" urged the lady.

"He finally succumbed; 'many geese are the death of even a boar!'"

"Do you mean that he was killed?"

"No, not killed. I told you already that I did not kill anybody. I am a gentle, pious man. Neither I, nor anybody else at my command, will kill Father Peter."

"Then what will become of him?"

"I'll take care of that; but not a hair of his head shall be touched; I promise you that in advance. I swear to you, even, that he shall outlive me."

"What is to be done with your daughter?"

"Oh, you need have no concern on her account, gracious Lady, I have not killed her either. Neither have I shut her up in a dungeon, nor even once scourged her. I have become a good, inoffensive man."

"What have you done, then? Have you forgiven her?"

"I have not only released her from punishment, but I have even let her go. I let her go, just as I once promised her, if she should ever again presume to meet Tihamer Csorbai."

"You have not lost your senses, I hope."

"Must you know at once what I promised her? Very well, I promised her that I would set her in a boat, and would push her, boat and all, into the Waag, and then she might, in God's name, float whichever way the water carried her. Just at present, the Waag offers a fine opportunity for such a boat-ride."

"Is it possible that you have really done this?"

"It is, indeed. If you had listened in the stilly night, a little after midnight, you might have heard for a long time her cries for help, in the pauses of the crashing of the ice floes. I could not bear them, because the wind was blowing in the opposite direction, and the ice splitting sounded too loud."

"You are a monster!"

"Oh, no indeed! I am a humble crawling worm of the dust. I am a halting cripple. I am an uprooted, decayed willow. But why do I complain to you of my sorrow? I did not come through the icy flood to find Hell itself, to bewail my misery to you here in Madocsany Castle. I will not cause you one unpleasant hour in this way. I come, however, on a very important matter, which I wish to settle to-day between us. I wish to sell you the Mitosin estate."

"What's that?"

"The entire Mitosin estate. Castle and everything, including all the stock. I wish to sell it to you for all time. Your worthy husband once wanted to buy it of me, when I was in need of money, because of my son's debts. Your husband offered me then sixty thousand dollars and thirty thousand ducats, but I did not consent. I preferred to sell the beautiful fertile property of Alfald, my wife's dowry, but the Mitosin Castle of my ancestors I would not set a price on for my neighbor; my pride would not allow it. Now I have no more pride, I am humbled to the dust. The disgrace which has fallen upon my house has been seen by hundreds, has been talked of by hundreds; it is impossible for me to stay longer in this vicinity. I must go forth into a country where nobody understands our language,—to Wallachia or Little Russia. That is why I offer you my estate. If you will pay the sum your husband offered, I shall accept with joyful thanks. If you wish to pay less, I shall not protest against it. I wish to flee from my possessions, and therefore I will sell them at any price, just as a dying man tries to sell his mattress to get money to buy his coffin."

Idalia raised her head proudly. The ornaments on her cap glittered; thus does the demon of satisfied revenge exalt his horns; the Bittse day was avenged, richly avenged with interest, and interest on interest. Her torn veil had been paid for with a whole shroud. They had wished to drive her hence, and now it was they who must flee. Now would she exult in her triumph.

"Well, noble Grazian Likovay, if you wish to sell your Mitosin estate forever, I will pay you the price for it that my poor departed husband offered. The gold is at hand; I am not accustomed to put it out at interest; you can have it when you please."

"Then, at once; for to-morrow at this time no living soul shall speak with me in the owl-nest of Mitosin. So then, at once,—that is what brought me here. I have ready with me the contract that your husband sent me, in two copies. We have only to fill in the blanks left for the names and amounts, sign the contract, seal it, and have it witnessed. Have you any men here who understand writing?"

"Yes."

Idalia did not need to go far for them. In the adjoining room, her steward and manager were listening; both learned men, who understood Latin too; she could call them. Now she was ready to offer her guest an arm-chair, and even have a cushion put under his gouty feet. The two learned men took up the two copies of the sale and purchase and compared the contents. Then they wrote the names and the amounts of the dollars and ducats. Both parties added their names with the same pen, and imprinted the red seal.

"Perhaps I ought to have sealed mine in black," muttered Grazian through his teeth, "But who can tell?"

Then both witnesses signed and sealed the document: each one took his copy, and now it was time to pay the money. Idalia had gold and silver brought and placed on the great oaken table. All had been packed in casks, large and small, arranged to open at the top, and on each cask was written the amount within.

"Do you require us to count the money, or weigh it out?" asked the Lady of Madocsany.

"We will neither count it, nor weigh it; whoever put it in knew how to count it, I am sure. And now I think everything is in order. Why should any one wish to deceive me, who is neither my friend nor my relative. There, boys, is a little drink-money for your trouble. And now close up the casks."

And with that he put his left hand into a cask, not one of silver, but of gold, and tossed a handful of it into the witnesses' caps, as they lay on the floor.

"The trade is done, gracious Lady. Now I give you the key of my castle. I shall spend the night at my agent's. By to-morrow morning, the Waag will be firm; my lame foot feels in advance that it is going to be very cold. You and your people can drive across in sledges, enter my towered hen-roost, and give your own invitations to a house-warming. Store-house and cellar are full. Now I ask one favor of you. Be so kind as to have your servants carry these casks to my boat for me. I will go ahead and wait for them there."

"But surely you will seal the casks with your own signet."

"What's the use of such care? These people will not deceive me, they are not relatives of mine. They are entire strangers, who have never received a favor from me. I can trust them."

"At your own risk."

"Now then, gracious Lady, let us shake hands for the last time. I regret that I cannot offer you my right hand. Now we can part in peace; neither one of us owes the other anything more in this world." And he offered Idalia his left hand. "What account we may have to settle with each other in the world below, Beelzebub will tell us, I suppose." With that he pushed her hand aside violently, took his crutch in his left hand, clapped his cap on his bald head, and without a word, limped out of the room and did not look around until he had reached his boat.

Twelve haiduks carried the casks of money to his boat; were they all there or not? Nobody counted. Anything more?

Then Likovay seated himself in the stern of his boat, and said to his boatmen, "Push off."

The boat moved still more slowly than before; but what wonder, when it was heavier by the hundredweight of silver and gold?



CHAPTER XV.

THE GRAVE OF GOLD.

Grazian Likovay's gouty leg really was a good weather-prophet; they had hardly reached the middle of the Waag when the ice crowded around them, and the boat was held firm amid the blocks. One of the crew, at the peril of his life, had to cross the ice cakes to the shore, arouse the people of the castle, and return to the boat with a long rope. By clinging to this rope, Grazian and the crew, with the casks of gold, were brought to shore. Here the lord of the castle was met by Master Mathias with a troica on runners. The casks were put in, and Lord Grazian seated himself on the driver's seat, with Master Mathias beside him to guide the three horses.

"Knock the top out of one of the casks, my good friend, and pay the whole household their wages for a year. The treasurer, legal adviser, and general manager have been paid already and their goods packed up; within an hour every living thing will be gone from here. Every one I find staying behind will be shot down; you alone may stay with me."

"I beg your pardon for contradicting you," said Master Mathias, "but everybody knows already how much gold we brought back from Madocsany, and there is cause to fear that we shall be robbed if we stay alone."

"Don't worry. We'll put the whole troica into the church for the night, and nobody can force his way in there. As soon as the moon rises, we'll make ready the horses, take our seats in the carriage, and drive out into the wide world toward Galicia. We have money enough, and can live there like lords."

"But you know one cannot live by gold and silver alone; we must have something to eat."

"That has all been prepared for. In the agent's house, we shall get our evening meal, and provisions for the journey; here's the key. There you'll find some choice Tokay; we will carouse on that to-day and take what is left with us. Now get the sledge into the church."

This was done. The horses were put into the sacristy, because from their unguarded stable they could be easily driven away. One cask of gold was left outside, and with this Master Mathias paid the whole retinue a year's wages; then showed them all outside the gate and locked it behind them. After that nobody else could get into the castle, for the keys were already at Madocsany. The cask was still not entirely empty.

"What shall I do with the rest?" asked Master Mathias.

"Put the money in your pockets, you may need it on your way."

Master Mathias did not wait to be told twice.

"No, don't kiss my hand, faithful fellow, I do not deserve it. But listen. You are master of a thousand arts, and so I suppose you understand masonry; bring your tools here into the church."

Master Mathias obeyed. He brought the mortar, the trowel, and the smoothing board.

"Now pick up your tools and follow me."

Grazian led Master Mathias through the opening of the altar frame, (the picture had been cast aside) into the secret passage-way; then to the heavy iron door, which when opened from outside set the church bells ringing. This door opened into the long passage-way, and at its very beginning were two side passages. In front of one of these side passages had been unloaded a pile of bricks. Lord Grazian threw a light into the dark space.

"See!"

"What a frightful place," said Master Mathias, with his teeth chattering. "What kind of women are those?"

"Bones of women, as you see."

"How did they get here?"

"They know best how they got here, but how to get away from here was what they did not know. And yet they tried in every way, as you see. Here they tried to break through the wall; with knives they pulled out two and three rows of bricks, and then grew weary of the work and gave it up. The wall is six feet through here."

"Yes, fully."

"Now then, do you know what these bricks here are for? You are to wall up the opening of this other space."

"I can do that easily."

"But first swear to me as a good Lutheran, on the Holy Gospels, that you will never in this life tell one word of what you have seen and heard in this place to any living soul."

With that he drew from his pocket a small Bible, and required Master Mathias to put his hand on the Bible and repeat the oath after him.

"Now to your work."

Out of the depths of the recess there sounded forth a sorrowful song:

"De profundis ad te clamavi, Domine——"

"Who is that?" whispered Master Mathias with a shudder.

"Take your torch and look at him."

Master Mathias threw the light of the torch into the dark space. Then he saw Father Peter in his monk's cowl, bound, and in an upright position. All around him were heaped up gold and silver and jewels that held him fixed. His cowl was drawn down over his face, so that it could not be seen.

"Father Peter!" whispered Master Mathias, turning to Lord Grazian.

"The Devil is in you that you guessed it! Yes, it really is Father Peter."

"Who brought him here?"

"I did, with my crooked leg, and my crushed hand."

"So then he has not been killed."

"You heard him sing."

"And you wish me to wall him in?"

"Not wholly. Leave a hole in the wall, about the size of the head of a small cask, so that he shall not suffocate."

"And who shall bring him food when we leave this country?"

"A raven of the Prophet Elias. Anything that is in the Bible is true: if it happened once that a raven brought bread to a hungry prophet, it can happen twice. Now to your work. You have begun this work, and you must finish it. Do it good-naturedly, my faithful friend, or else I'll shoot you in the head and then this one after you."

Master Mathias was all in a cold perspiration, and went to work.

"While you are doing this, I will take a little walk in this underground paradise."

And Lord Grazian took his lantern on his maimed right arm and limped off through the dark, winding underground passage, counting his steps as he went. When he had counted five hundred and forty steps, he found himself in front of that cavern where the great cask stood, all covered over with green. He raised the cover; under this was a thick layer of wax that he bored through with his knife. The cask contained what he had supposed at the first glance—gunpowder.

He gathered up a little of the dust and scattered it over his torch, it blazed up; the gunpowder had been kept dry through these centuries under its layer of wax. Then he unbuttoned his coat, and brought out a long cotton fuse which he had wound around his waist a number of times. With his left hand and his teeth, he fastened this fuse to this match hanging at the bunghole of the cask; then he walked back, drawing the fuse after him—it was just five hundred and forty yards long. When he came to the end, he lighted the fuse, and noted by his watch how long it took to burn one yard—just one minute. How many hours are there in five hundred and forty minutes? That was too much for his head; Master Mathias would tell him.

When he returned, the wall was done, and Master Mathias was busy smoothing it off around the open space. It was strange that Grazian had not thought of this—what if Father Peter so walled up had made an arrangement with Master Mathias, during Grazian's absence, and by entreaties, threats and promises, persuaded him to make known his fate; or had he thought of this? Was that the purpose of the fuse, or was it for something quite different?

"Are you through, my good friend? Tell me how many times sixty goes in five hundred and forty?"

"Six times nine make fifty-four, so nine times."

"Quite right. Six times nine makes fifty-four. The table of ones was more than I could ever get. Yes, nine times—that is quite enough. Now I too shall be ready soon. Do you go to the agent's house, make a good fire on the hearth, spread the table, and prepare our supper. I will stay here a little longer to take leave of my son."

When the major-domo had gone, Grazian went back into the church. He lifted the casks of money from the carriage and rolled them along the passage-way to the space just walled in. When they were all piled up together, he stuck his hand in the opening:

"Greetings, my beloved son-in-law, Father Peter; how do you fare on your wedding day? You have won a beautiful bride, I must acknowledge. You shall not say you led hence my only daughter with only what she had on her back. I will be a generous father and give her her inheritance from both father and mother. Was ever father-in-law so good as I?"

Then he opened one of the casks and laid it with his left hand on his wounded right arm. He smothered the pain that this caused him and shook the silver shower of dollars down into the cavern; he did the same with all the casks that contained silver money.

"This was your portion from her mother; now comes the dowry from her father."

And he brought forth the casks full of gold, and poured their costly contents over the head of his son-in-law. The heaps of money came up to the victim's shoulders, only his head was still free.

"Miserere, mei Domine——" resounded from the lips of the man buried alive in gold.

"Ha, ha," laughed Lord Grazian, "so you want a song. Shall I sing you one? How do you like this: 'Gemitus mortis,—dolores inferni—circumdederunt me. Perhaps you like this better:—'Yesterday I went to town and heard the matins read. Now the priest who read the matins has become my lover'—You don't want any more of that, then here's one: 'In paradisum ne ducant te angeli—Kyrie eleison'—ha ha ha!"

Then he seized his torch and hobbled off through the passage, continuing to mix popular songs with litany.

That diabolical laughter was the last sound of the night in this subterranean cavern.



CHAPTER XVI.

THE FEAST OF DEATH.

This Master Mathias was a very clever man—more clever than all the rest.

"I have been made the receiver of a secret, so strong that it will eat its way through the walls that hold it. It's true I have sworn on the Gospel that I will not betray it to anybody; but how can Lord Grazian believe me altogether, when he does not believe the Gospel? I am inclined to think he would have much more confidence in a dead man. And how easy it is to make a dead man out of a living one! Just a taste of meat with something good on it—one swallow of a carefully prepared drink—and then a peaceful good night. One does not need to defend himself against a dead man."

Master Mathias thought of this while he cut the meat that he found in the house, set the wine on the table and wiped off the plates. He had thought out a plan. In the house there was still one living creature, a hunting dog; he called him in, gave him some meat and bread; and the dog swallowed all. Then he gave him a bowl of wine; the dog drank this too, and nothing happened. So then neither drink nor food contained any poison that would kill instantly, and later—why he would watch carefully my Lord Grazian's hands.

He had to wait some time for him to finish putting away the gold, then suddenly the ghostly bell rang out, a sign that some one was near the door of the underground passage. Lord Grazian staggered out of the church. The bears were not in the garden any more, their hides were hanging on the hedge; their master had had them skinned the day before, as a reward for their faithless watching.

"The ghosts have been ringing again," growled out Master Mathias, as Lord Grazian entered.

"Never mind, they have done it for the last time," said Lord Grazian, sitting down at the table. His feet were encased in large, high Polish boots, in the legs of which were all kinds of tools; out of one he brought a knife in a silver case and his two-tined fork. A real lord never puts a stranger's table-silver to his mouth. Out of the other leg he brought a gold drinking cup in tortoise-shell case, the "bratina" that can be drained at one swallow.

"Now, my good servant, prepare yours, and prepare mine; you see I have but one arm."

Master and servant sat down opposite each other, and ate from one dish. The master had good reason to be hungry, for he had not tasted a mouthful since early morning. The dog went from one to the other, wagging his tail; neither food nor drink seemed to have hurt him any.

"Now then, my good fellow, let us both drink out of this 'bratina'; first I and then you. Do you see that is the advantage of a 'bratina', because the master of the house cannot poison his guests, as is the custom with foreigners. For with us the cup goes round, and all drink from one cup,—first of all the master."

Lord Grazian filled the cup and drained it off—

"To your health, my faithful servant!"

Then he passed the cup, and Master Mathias too drained it.

"To your health, my beloved master!"

Then followed in turn the customary toasts. "To the health of the happy bride!" "May God give long life to the brave bridegroom!" "Long life to the beautiful Lady of Madocsany!" And so the cup went back and forth with toasts to friends and foes until there was nothing left to be said.

Meantime the moon had risen and shone through the window. The Lord Grazian said to Master Mathias:

"Why, my good follow, you have a married daughter."

"True, she lives in Tepla, poor soul. Yes, over there."

"How many children has she?"

"Six."

"You have not drunk to their health yet, have you?"

"On my soul, no."

"Don't drink any more, my dear fellow, you've drunk enough already. And that not only for to-day, but for your whole life. You are a dead man already, and so am I. This 'bratina' that we have been drinking out of, was poisoned with an Italian poison that goes by the clock. You have two hours left to live. So get yourself together and go on your way; the ice is firm, you can go over to Tepla to your daughter. Then you can go to bed, send for a priest, and make your will, and you will at least have somebody to close your eyes."

That was the end of the comedy.

Master Mathias sprang up in terror, his hair on end. He began already to feel the pangs of approaching death. With a curse he dashed out of the room, leaving behind his bag of gold, and goaded by torture, rushed out through the castle gate over the ice-covered Waag.

Lord Grazian filled his beaker again and again with wine; and drank and drank—all sole alone. In his heart he offered toasts to all who had received good from him and returned evil, and then again to those who had done him favors, returned only by evil. Every cup was a new draught of poison, though so compounded that it acted slowly. Lord Grazian must make haste, for he wished to fulfil his word made to the Lady of Madocsany—"I swear to you that Father Peter shall live longer than I."



CHAPTER XVII.

ALL IS OVER.

Idalia could not sleep that night. Satisfied revenge brings no sweet sleep! Frightful visions chased through her brain, in which the distorted faces of her disgraced victims haunted her. There is a maiden in a boat that the ice flood sweeps along, her cry is borne on the wind; and that man?—it is the one to whom Idalia has prayed, whom she has lost, and now she would give him over to neither man nor devil.

The beautiful woman had many stately rooms, and yet there was not space enough for her. Long since had she wept through them all. Back and forth she went to the balcony and blew her breath on the panes in warm rings through which she could look out at the Waag. A great waste field of ice stretched out before her, reaching from Mitosin Castle to Madocsany; the moon lighted up a landscape still as death; about three o'clock in the morning, as she gazed out from her balcony over the wide waste, like a mad woman, it suddenly seemed to her as if a black spot moved over there and came nearer and nearer the castle; as it came nearer, it proved to be the figure of a man; the nearer it approached, stumbling among the ice blocks, the more evident became its purpose to come straight to the castle. It was somebody from Mitosin! Idalia wakened her people and gave orders to carry out a stretcher and help the man who was with difficulty struggling through the ice, and bring him to the castle. This man was Master Mathias. When brought before Idalia, his face was hardly recognizable, it was so blue with frost and pain, and its features were so distorted.

"I came from Mitosin," he gasped out, sinking down upon the bearskin before the fire where they had laid him.

"Bring him a cup of warm wine," ordered the lady.

"No, no! no more wine," he groaned, "leave us alone. I have had enough of that."

When left alone with the lady of the castle, he wrung her hands and sank upon his knees.

"For God's sake, save me, most gracious Lady, I entreat you!"

"What ails you?"

"The Lord of Mitosin has poisoned me and himself too. May God punish him for it. Help me, or I must die."

"How can I help you?"

"Don't begrudge me that. You know very well I have been poisoned by a drinking cup, although there was no poison to be seen in it. They say that when you poisoned your husband, you did the same thing: you drank from the same cup with him, so as not to excite his suspicions, and drank the poison; but after he died, you went aside and took the antidote. You lived and he died."

"You're mad!"

"No, I am not. Give me the antidote. You know the secret. If you set me free, I'll tell you a secret you will not be sorry to hear."

"What secret is that?"

"The secret where Father Peter is now."

At this name, the lady sprang toward Master Mathias, raised him up from the bearskin, and laid him on a couch.

"What, you know where he is! Is he still alive?"

"Yes, he is, and no harm has been done yet!"

"Where is he?"

"Give me the antidote quickly."

"No, no; there is time yet. I must have the secret first, there is no escape for you until then."

Large drops of sweat stood out on the brow of the tortured man.

"My master made me promise on the Holy Gospels that I would not betray it to any body. I shall go to Hell for this."

"You'll go there anyway. The question is whether you will go sooner or later. If you tell me what you know, the devils will have to wait for you; if you keep it to yourself, you'll have to go at once. Speak at once or die."

"You'll surely give me the medicine?"

"Yes, there you have it now. While you were speaking, I dropped it into your mouth. I carry it with me always in the stone of my ring. See how green it is, gleaming in the darkness; if I should give you all of it, you would live a hundred years longer."

The poor fellow in the agony of death told all. When he spoke of the chamber of the dead, and of the cavern of treasure, Idalia was convinced that he spoke the truth. No one who had not been there and seen them could know of these places.

"Good," she said, "now take this. Go home to Tepla to your daughter, and say nothing of what you know."

But what the beautiful lady really gave Master Mathias was anything but an antidote; it was a still more active poison, so there should be no time for him to communicate his secret to a third.

When Master Mathias had dragged himself to Tepla to his daughter's house, his tongue hardly moved in his throat, and he could only stammer: "Father Peter—walled in—under-ground—with treasures—in Mitosin—still alive—I am undone." More he could not say; by the time the priest came, he was already dead.

* * * * *

Idalia was left alone with the secret she had extorted. Suddenly her old passion blazed up again to its full height like a column of fire. Her beloved was still alive; he was only buried, walled in deep underground,—abandoned by God and man, left to the company of the corpses, with no sound save those of the silent night; robbed of his loved one, betrayed in despair, with nobody to expect but grim death. What if somebody should go down to him in this frightful grave, and should look at him through that small opening; would not such a countenance seem like that of an angel looking down from Heaven? Would he not look upon her as a goddess who should bring him up from the depths of the grave into God's world again? Would it be possible for him not to yield to the force of that love which opens graves even, and will not leave him to God or the devil?

She did not hesitate long, but threw her black cloak around her shoulders, placed a dagger and a sword at her belt, and looked for a strong axe: "It will be convenient," she thought, "to break through the heavy walls." She lighted her lantern, and stole out of the castle.

Toward morning, a thick fog had settled over the place, so that nobody saw which way she went. In fact nobody ever knew which way she had gone.

About six o'clock that morning, the whole country was aroused by a frightful underground explosion convulsing the earth. Towers fell, castles rocked, the Jesuit monastery fell in, and Mitosin Chapel was reduced to a heap of stones.

Those who were awake at the time maintained that they saw a giant column rise up from the middle of the Waag and blaze on high. The clouds of smoke were visible for some time through the fog, and seemed like an army of darkness. The broken ice began to heave and roll violently, not only forward, but in all directions, overspreading the valley and sweeping away before it villages and forests.

After the flood had subsided and the Waag returned to its bed, evil traces were left behind in thick layers of round pebbles; for the Waag is not like those friendly rivers which when they overflow cover the earth with a fertile deposit.

In the excitement over the disturbance of the elements, people forgot the frightful family history that had just been enacted in the two castles. A few days later, relatives of the Likovay family found the body of Lord Grazian in the agent's quarters of the castle. The swollen flood had not forced its way there; but not one stone upon another was left of the little church. The devastating explosion had opened a way through this for the streaming flood of waters, whose irresistible current ground stone and wood to powder.

The same fate met the statue of Nepomeck at Madocsany. The Hussite passage was filled with stones, and the flood took its path from there over the country.

It was not for a long, long time that the members of the Likovay family began to inquire what had become of the treasure that Lord Grazian had received from the Lady of Madocsany for his estate; but never a trace of it was found.

And the whole of this story, from beginning to end, is a true story. The dates are kept in the family archives: and on the lips of the people the name of Father Peter still lives. The place is often visited by earthquakes, and at such times they say, "Father Peter has turned over in his grave." And every time that Mitosin Castle and estate is transferred to a new purchaser, it is stipulated in the contract, that if the buried treasure is found, it shall be given back to its rightful owners. But the people say that the treasure will never be found, until Father Peter has been set free from his living grave; and this may be true.



Other Books Uniform with this Volume

What's Bred in the Bone Grant Allen The Desire of the Eyes Grant Allen The Wooing O't Mrs. Alexander Her Dearest Foe Mrs. Alexander Lorna Doone Blackmore Auld Licht Idylls and A Window in Thrums J. M. Barrie An Auld Licht Manse J. M. Barrie A Living Lie Paul Bourget When the World was Younger Miss M. E. Braddon The Golden Butterfly Besant & Rice A Son of Hagar Hall Caine The Bondman Hall Caine The Deemster Hall Caine The Shadow of a Crime Hall Caine The Moonstone Wilkie Collins Wooed and Married Rosa N. Carey Not Like Other Girls Rosa N. Carey Pretty Miss Neville B. M. Croker Beyond The Pale B. M. Croker Crime of the Boulevard Jules Claretie A Galloway Herd S. R. Crockett A Romance of Two Worlds Marie Corelli Vendetta Marie Corelli Wormwood Marie Corelli Thelma Marie Corelli Ardath Marie Corelli The Three Musketeers Alexandre Dumas Twenty Years After Alexandre Dumas Vicomte de Bragelonne Alexandre Dumas Louise de la Valliere Alexandre Dumas Ten Years Later Alexandre Dumas The Man in the Iron Mask Alexandre Dumas Two Years Before the Mast R. H. Dana, Jr. The Professor's Experiment The Duchess A Step Aside Charlotte Dunning Some Women's Ways Mary A. Dickens Not in the Prospectus Parke Danforth The White Company A. Conan Doyle Micah Clarke A. Conan Doyle The Firm of Girdlestone A. Conan Doyle The Captain of the Pole Star A. Conan Doyle The Mystery of Cloomber A. Conan Doyle Strange Secrets A. Conan Doyle The Betrayal of John Fordham B. L. Farjeon Borderland Jessie Fothergill Kith and Kin Jessie Fothergill One of Three Jessie Fothergill Peril Jessie Fothergill The Wellfields Jessie Fothergill Probation Jessie Fothergill The First Violin Jessie Fothergill Nihilist Princess M. T. Gagneur Cranford Mrs. Gaskell Woodlanders Thomas Hardy Two On a Tower Thomas Hardy Far From the Madding Crowd Thomas Hardy The Arundel Motto Mary Cecil Hay For Her Dear Sake Mary Cecil Hay Nora's Love Test Mary Cecil Hay Old Myddleton's Money Mary Cecil Hay A Maiden's Choice W. Heimburg Magdalen's Fortunes W. Heimburg Defiant Hearts W. Heimburg Two Daughters of One Race W. Heimburg A Fatal Misunderstanding W. Heimburg Lucie's Mistake W. Heimburg The Dagger and the Cross Joseph Hatton A Girl of the Commune G. A. Henty The Queerest Man Alive George H. Hepworth Jasper Fairfax Margoret Holmes Tempest and Sunshine Mary J. Holmes Homestead on the Hillside Mary J. Holmes English Orphans Mary J. Holmes Lena Rivers Mary J. Holmes Peter the Priest Maurus Jokai The Golden Age of Transylvania Maurus Jokai Westward Ho Charles Kingsley Hypatia Charles Kingsley Phantom 'Rickshaw Rudyard Kipling In Black and White and Story of Rudyard Kipling the Gadsbys Wee Willie Winkie and American Notes Rudyard Kipling Ballads, Poems and Other Verses Rudyard Kipling Under the Deodars and City of the Rudyard Kipling Dreadful Night Plain Tales Prom the Hills Rudyard Kipling The Light That Failed Rudyard Kipling Soldiers Three Rudyard Kipling Mine Own People Rudyard Kipling Madame Sans Gene Edmond Lepelletier Ramuntcho Pierre Loti Guilty Bonds Wm. Le Queux Strange Tales of a Nihilist Wm. Le Queux Gold Elsie E. Marlitt Old Mam'sell's Secret E. Marlitt Daireen F. Frankfort Moors A New Note Ella MacMahon Lindsay's Girl Mrs. Herbert Martin An Old Maid's Love Maarten Maartens The Cedar Star Mary E. Mann The Man Who Was Good Leonard Merrick A Daughter of the Philistines Leonard Merrick A Soldier of Fortune L. T. Meade The King's Assegai Bertram Mitford Beside the Bonnie Brier Bush Ian MacLaren Matrimony W. E. Norris The Story of a Governess Mrs. Oliphant Under Two Flags Ouida The Massarenes Ouida The Splendid Spur "Q" (A. T. Quiller Couch) Warren Hyde Helen Riemensnyder What Cheer W. Clark Russell The Lady Maud W. Clark Russell The Wreck of the Grosvenor W. Clark Russell Cloister and the Hearth Charles Reade Forced Acquaintances Edith Robinson Sheba Rita Kitty Rita After Bread and On the Sunny Shore Henryk Sienkeiwicz Dragon's Teeth Translated by Mary Serrano The Heart of a Mystery T. W. Speight Robert Urquhart Gabriel Setoun New Arabian Nights Robert Louis Stevenson Treasure Island Robert Louis Stevenson Kidnapped Robert Louis Stevenson The Crystal Button Chauncey Thomas Jack Horner Mary S. Tiernan Homoselle Mary S. Tiernan Captain Antifer Jules Verne On the Winning Side Mrs. J. H. Walworth Uncle Scipio Mrs. J. H. Walworth The Wide, Wide World Susan Warner



A DAUGHTER OF THE PHILISTINES

By LEONARD MERRICK

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JASPER FAIRFAX

BY MARGRET HOLMES

Author of "Chamber Over the Gate," Etc., Etc.

"Will be read with interest."—Chicago Record.

"One of those typical American novels in conception and development."—Boston Courier.

"Of interest from first to last."—Public Opinion.

"A good, strong, skillfully told American novel."—Chicago News.

"A story that will create a sensation."—Boston Globe.

"One of the most original, able and remarkable of recent novels."—Minneapolis Tribune.

"The book is thrilling and dramatic."—New Orleans Item.

"Will not lack for admirers."—Boston Times.

"Very attractive story."—Plain Dealer.

"One of the best Southern novels we have ever read."—Atlanta Star.

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An Unofficial Patriot

By HELEN H. GARDENER

"It is a side of the slavery question of which Northern people knew nothing."—John A. Cockerill, N. Y. Advertiser.

"Strong and picturesque sketches of camp and field in the days of the Civil War."—San Francisco Chronicle.

"The book is being dramatized by Mr. James A. Herne, the well-known actor, author and manager."—N. Y. Press.

"It tells a splendid story. "—Journal, Columbus, O

"Will be sure to attract the attention it deserves."—Philadelphia Press.

"In its scope and power it is unrivalled among war stories."—Ideas, Boston, Mass.

"In many ways the most remarkable historical novel of the Civil War."—Home Journal, Boston, Mass.

"The interview with Lincoln is one of the finest bits of dialogue in a modern book."—Chicago Herald.

"Will probably be the most popular and saleable novel since Robert Elsmere."—Republican.

"One of the most instructive and fascinating writers of our time."—Courier-Journal, Louisville.

"Is calculated to command as wide attention as Judge Tourgee's "Fool's Errand."—N. Y. Evening Telegram.

"Has enriched American literature."—Item, Philadelphia.

"Remarkably true to history."—Inter-Ocean, Chicago.

"Entitled to a place with standard histories of the War."—Atlanta Journal.

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THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS

BY JOSEPH HATTON

Author of "By Order of the Czar."

"Most dramatic manner.... Deserves to rank well up in current fiction."—Minneapolis Tribune.

"Villainy of the deepest die, heroism of the highest sort, beauty wronged and long suffering, virtue finally rewarded, thrills without number."—St. Louis Globe-Democrat.

"Clean wholesome story, which should take prominent place in current fiction."—Chicago Record.

"Finely conceived and finely written."—Toledo Blade.

"This is his masterpiece."—Buffalo Express.

"The chief merit is the account of the Plague in Eyam.... It is a true story and Eyam is a real village."—Boston Journal.

"Weird and interesting to the point of being absorbing. The only way to get the story is to read it."—St. Louis Star.

"Seventeenth century romance steeped in the traditions of the Church and of the times."—Detroit Journal.

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THE CEDAR STAR

BY MARY E. MANN

Author of "Susannah."

"An admirable piece of work, and is worth a crowd of far more pretentious productions."—News and Courier, Charleston, S.C.

"Heartily alive and extremely well written."—Boston Gazette.

"Resembles some of Stockton's works."—Pittsburg Press.

"Takes high rank among a decade's array of entertaining books."—Boston Courier.

"Possessing among other merits that of original detail."—Cincinnati Times-Star.

"The author has a very genius for clever character drawing."—Detroit Journal.

"There is much force and action."—Boston Herald.

"Intense human interest."—Bulletin.

"The author has a genius for clever character drawing."—Baltimore American.

"An unusually pleasing novel and well written."—Philadelphia Press.

"A charming book, beginning with good chapters of child-life, and containing memorable figures, notably Billy the Curate and Betty herself. Betty is, indeed, quite a discovery."—London Academy.

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THE MAN WHO WAS GOOD

BY LEONARD MERRICK

AUTHOR OF "A Daughter of the Philistines," "One Man's Views."

"A second success.... An exceptionally able novel."—Literary Review.

"Remarkable for its splendid delineation of character, its workmanship and natural arrangement of plot."—Chicago Daily News.

"Has distinction of style and character, dramatic force and literary effectiveness."—Phila. Press.

"An intensely dramatic story, and written with force and precision."—New York Times.

"Mr. Merrick's work is of a very high quality. Is the most masterly of his three books."—Chicago Tribune.

"The delicacy of the character sketching has a brilliancy and fascination strangely magnetic."—Minneapolis Tribune.

"Is a forceful, dramatic and altogether human story of English life."—Boston Times.

"Strong story."—Chicago Record.

"It is useless to say that so strong, so fierce a book must be written well."—Chicago Times-Herald.

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DEFIANT HEARTS

BY W. HEIMBURG

AUTHOR OF "My Heart's Darling," "Her Only Brother," "Tales of an Old Castle," Etc., Etc.

"The story is true to life in some of its manifold phases and will repay reading."—Minneapolis Tribune.

"It is written in the usual entertaining style of this well known author."—Boston Courier.

"Very good reading."—New Orleans Picayune.

"The action is vigorous and the story interesting."—Public Opinion.

"Capital story by an established favorite."—Philadelphia American.

"Is a charming German story by the author of "Heart's Darling," "Good Luck," "Her Only Brother," etc."—Southern Star.

"It possesses the positive virtue of being pure and wholesome in sentiment."—Detroit Free Press.

"It comprises all the many qualities of romance that recommend all Heimburg's other stories."—New Haven Journal.

"It is simple, but dignified and free from any of those smirches that suggest the presence of vice and impurity."—N. Y. Home Journal.



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"When The World Was Younger"

By M. E. BRADDON

"Miss Braddon skilfully uses as a background the great plague and fire in London, which gives realism to her picture."—Rochester Herald.

"The characters are clearly drawn and strongly contrasted. The manners of the times, the intrigues of the court, the landmarks of London, are unerringly painted."—Boston Times.

"The first attempt Miss M. B. Braddon has made in the line of the historical novel."—Literary World.

"She has chosen the period of the Restoration of Charles the Second for her romance, and has given us an excellent description of the state of society in London and at the Court during the reign of that dissolute monarch."—Home Queen.

"It is needless to say that the story is well told."—San Francisco Chronicle.

"One of the strongest and most enjoyable of her stories."—Philadelphia Inquirer.

"It abounds in mystifying plot, lovable characters, rapid and thrilling incident and delightful descriptions of English scenery."—Boston Globe.

"A tale worth reading."—San Francisco Call.

"Full of incident, chapter after chapter, brimming with vital meanings."—Boston Courier.

"Beautiful, innocent and brave was Angela, the heroine."—Philadelphia Bulletin.

"It is a Braddon story in the famous old Braddon vein."—St. Louis Mirror.

"This one reviewing the days of Cromwell and the Charles is no shallow piece of work."—Philadelphia American.

"Miss Braddon has caught the atmosphere cleverly and manufactured a stirring novel which bears evidence of careful thought and planning."—Chicago Record.

"The scene is laid in England in the early days of the Restoration. Charles II., Nell Gwyune, Pepys, and Milton are among the characters."—Buffalo Express.

"None of her books tells a more interesting story."—St. Louis Star.

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Dust in the Balance

By GEORGE KNIGHT

"Deserves more extended notice than we are able to give."—Public Opinion.

"Remarkable for its poetic imagery and its beauties of diction."—Bookseller.

"Interesting, poetic, dramatic—dealing with crucial moments in life."—Boston Times.

"Delicate, fantastic touch."—Time and Hour.

"A vein of sincere, sympathetic humanity—marked by passages of earnest poetic feeling."—World, New York.

"Charmingly fanciful style, sweet, wholesome and entertaining."—The Wisconsin, Milwaukee.

"Of exceptional merit and interest. Boldness of conception,—poetic beauty and vigorous originality."—News, Milwaukee.

"Romantic in character."—Argonaut, San Francisco.

"The sentences are short, sharp and crisp."—Boston Globe.

"I never heard of the author before, we shall all hear of him again."—Time and Hour.

"Portrays human experience with a hand that is masterly and true."—Boston Courier.

"Interesting, well written, quaint, humorous, pathetic, mystical."—American.

"Most poetic and delicate in treatment."—Occident.

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Betrayal of John Fordham

By B. L. FARJEON

"The plot is well constructed, the story is well told, and there is enough of mystery to satisfy the most exacting reader."—Saturday Evening Gazette

"'The Betrayal of John Fordham' is a new story by B. L. Farjeon. It is of the detective order, full of murder and innumerable wrongs that become, at length, righted, and the much abused hero comes to happiness as the curtain falls. The working out of the plot, combined with peculiar incidents makes the story worth reading, especially if one likes a detective story. Almost everyone does, for a change."—Boston Times.

"Running through the story are the threads of one or two affairs of the heart, which are woven into pleasant conclusions. Some of the scenes are stirringly dramatic."—San Francisco Chronicle.

"A new book, which, like the preceding ones from the pen of the same author, is a strong story and which promises to be extensively read, is B. L. Farjeon's new novel, 'The Betrayal of John Fordham.'"—New Haven Journal.

"The plot is intricate and deeply involved and dramatically and skillfully worked out."—Brooklyn Eagle.

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Transcriber's note:

This book, as originally published, did not have a table of contents. A table of contents has been created for this electronic edition.

THE END