She did not think twice about it, but accepted the idea as a heaven-sent inspiration which it was her duty to follow. She put on a shawl as if she were only going to take a walk in the moonlight and descended into the park accompanied by the gardener's daughter whom she had bribed to help her to escape. The girl succeeded in hoodwinking the men servants by dressing herself up in a mantle of her mistress's, pretending she would have supper out in the park as the night was so fine and warm, so that by the time the fraud was discovered and the alarm given, Henrietta had had a start of several hours and although the men, fearful of the anger of their master when he should return and find his wife flown, searched in every direction with lighted torches they were unable to discover a trace of the missing lady.

Terror lends strength to the most feeble. Ordinarily Henrietta was so weak that it was as much as she could do to promenade through the park. But to-day after a two hours' run over stones and through briars and bushes, at midnight, she still did not feel weary. From the top of a hill she looked back. She could still see the tower of the castle of Hidvar in the valley, but it looked blue through the mist in the distance and then she hastened down into the valley whose steep overhanging sides hid her even from the moonlight.

The night was noiseless, the forest dark. Now and again a humming night beetle circled round and round her and obstinately pursued her as if he also was a spy sent after her. The poor thing's heart throbbed violently. What if she had lost her way? What if she fell into the hands of the robbers whom they were now actually pursuing through the woods? Yet still greater was her terror of Hidvar and a hundred times more homelike was the dreadful forest with its giant trees speaking in their sleep than the tapestried walls of the Castle of Hidvar.

Suddenly a glade opened up before her which seemed to greet her as an old acquaintance.

Yes, indeed, there were the wild roses which she had so often plucked to adorn her hat. The hunting-box could not be far off now. It conceals itself to the right of the rose bushes beneath a lofty birch.

A few moments later she found herself outside its door.

As she laid her hand on the latch, a thought of terror transfixed her. What if the door should be shut?

But she had only to press the latch in order to put all her fears to flight. The door this time also was not fastened.

Standing on the threshold she enquired with a trembling voice: "Is anybody in?"

No answer.

Then she closed the door behind her and opened the door of the second room. There also nobody responded to her enquiry. The third room was also open as usual, nay even one of its windows was opened towards the orchard. Moreover, everything was in its proper place just as she had always found it—the weapons, the bear skin coverlet and the water pitcher.

It occurred to Henrietta to close the door from the inside so that nobody might come upon her unawares while she slept. But then the thought also struck her that it was not right to lock the old gentleman out of his own house especially as he might turn up in the early morning tired out and half frozen. So she ultimately decided to stay up for him in order to tell him, as soon as he arrived, that she meant to obtain a separation from her husband, whose conduct she could no longer endure. Till then she would try hard not to go to sleep. But she was tired to death from her long run through the forest and was obliged at last to throw herself on the bear skin coverlet to rest; and gradually sleep overcame all her anguish, all her terror.

She might have slept for about a half an hour, a restless, phantom-haunted sleep at best, when she suddenly awoke.

It seemed to her as if she had heard a distant cry. Perhaps she had only imagined she had heard it in her slumbers, and perhaps what she had dreamt was so awful and what she fancied she had heard was so terrible, that it had awakened her.

She began to listen attentively. After midnight every light sound seems so loud.

She fancied in the great stillness that she could hear rapidly approaching footsteps.

Again a cry! like the cry of a hunted beast, like the cry of a wounded wolf!

She was not dreaming now, she could hear it plainly. She saw where she was. The moonlight was streaming through the window, she could see to the end of all three rooms.

Suddenly at the window overlooking the garden whence the moonbeams streamed in, a black shape appeared which obscured the moonlight for an instant.

This shape leaped through the window and, panting hard, rushed through the two rooms into the third where the arms stood.

Henrietta saw it fly past her bed, she heard its panting sobs and—recognized it.

It was Fatia Negra! this was Fatia Negra's house!

And this was not all.

Close upon the traces of Fatia Negra rushed another phantom with a drawn sword in its hand, but its face was towards her and she recognized in it—Szilard Vamhidy.

And yet she did not lose her consciousness at this double sight of terror, though it would have been much better for her if she had.

Fatia Negra plunged into the armoury and plucked down a pistol from the wall.

Szilard paused on the threshold.

"Halt!" cried Fatia Negra with a voice like a scream—"this is my house and your tomb."

Szilard did not condescend to reply but drew a step nearer.

"Sir, but one word more," said Fatia Negra in a fainter voice and so hoarsely as to be scarcely audible, "you have wounded me, you have run me down; but your life is now in my hands and I could kill you this instant if I had a mind to. Let us bargain a bit: I won't kill you if you will not pursue me any further. You return and say you could not catch me. I swear to you that to-morrow I will send you twenty thousand ducats."

With contemptuous coldness Szilard replied: "Surrender, I will not bargain."

"You won't bargain, you crushed worm you! The mouth of my pistol is on a level with your forehead. I have only to press my finger and your head would be shattered—and yet you dare to have it out with me? Do you want to save your head?"

"I mean to have yours," said Szilard and he drew a step nearer to the adventurer.

"My head, eh? Ha, ha, ha! You would have it would you, and have it here! Take it then!"

At that moment a piercing shriek startled the two deadly antagonists and in the adjoining room a white figure fell prone upon the floor.

The next moment there was a loud report and Fatia Negra fell back lifeless on the bear skin carpet.

At the very moment when he had laughed aloud and cried: "Take it then!" he had suddenly put the mouth of the pistol into his own mouth and fired it off. The heavy charge blew his head to bits, Szilard felt a warm red rain showering down upon him.

So Fatia Negra, after all, did not give up his head, the pistol shot had annihilated it.

And nobody ever knew who Fatia Negra really was.



CHAPTER XXIII

THE ACCOMMODATION

It was now the seventh time that Mr. John Lapussa had informed Mr. Sipos that he wanted to see him and for the seventh time word was sent back that the lawyer could not come. Why could he not come? They could not say. Finally a message was delivered to the effect that the lawyer could not come either that day, or the next, or indeed on any other day in the whole year. In a word Mr. Sipos declined to have anything more to do with the Lapussa family or its affairs. Their transactions were not at all to his taste.

So, as Mr. Sipos would not appear at the summons of Mr. John Lapussa, Mr. John Lapussa must needs call upon Mr. Sipos.

He was wearing mourning in his hat and tried hard to lend his face a funereal appearance also.

"Have you heard the news?" he asked.

Mr. Sipos had heard nothing.

"Don't you see the mourning in my hat? Alas! my poor niece, unhappy Henrietta!"

"Well, what has happened?"

"Hatszegi has been drowned in the Maros."

"Impossible, he was a first-rate swimmer."

"His horse ran away with him, he had lost all control over it. When he saw that the horse was determined to plunge into the river from the high bank, he tried to spring out of the saddle, but his spur unfortunately caught in the stirrups and the horse dragged him down with it into the water. There in the full stream, with his head downwards and his legs in the air, he vainly attempted to extricate himself. The frantic horse swam with him to the opposite shore, dragging the poor wretch after it, and before the opposite bank was reached, his head was so shattered that it was impossible to recognize his features. It is now a week since they buried him in the family vault at Hidvar. Poor Henrietta! So young to be left a widow! And to have lost so handsome, so beloved a husband through so sad a death! Really lamentable!"

"I wonder what the rascal is after now," thought Mr. Sipos.

"My heart really is breaking for her! If only there were not these unhappy money differences between us. I am not a tiger. My heart is not made of stone. Perhaps you don't believe me! Let me tell you that I have half resolved, despite the old gentleman's will, to transfer to my niece, Henrietta, the Kerekedar property."

"Because its expenses are greater than its revenue, I presume?"

"None of your poor witticisms, sir. I am ready to make any sacrifices to oblige my relatives. The world misjudges me. They call me greedy and avaricious; if only they could look into my heart!"

"What you have done hitherto, sir, does not testify to any great regard for your relatives. For instance, look at the case of my client, young Coloman—for you know that Vamhidy has instructed me to act for him. What intrigues, what tricks were employed to fasten upon him the suspicion of forgery! Nobody knows that better than you, sir. And let me tell you that although my young client is nothing but a strolling player, I shall spare no pains to thoroughly vindicate his good name and you, with all your wealth and property, will be unable to affect the issue one jot."

Mr. John pondered for a moment. "Look here," said he at last, "let us pitch the whole confounded suit into the fire. I have a compromise to propose. I candidly confess I am in a bit of a hole. That bill business is now before the courts and when it comes on for trial, it will cause a horrible scandal and people have condemned me beforehand. I only wish I had never mixed myself up in it."

"Suppose I help you out of the difficulty!"

"In that case you may dictate your own conditions and I will consent to them beforehand."

"There is only one way to save you. Henrietta must say that the bill is not forged, but is really signed by her and she must then pay and cancel it, then every foundation of a charge against you vanishes."

"A sublime idea," cried Mr. John springing from his seat. "And now let me hear your conditions."

"My only condition is, complete satisfaction to be made to the children of your second sister."

"What! surrender a whole third of the property to them without any deduction?"

"We will accept nothing less."

"What must I do first then?"

"First you must pay the baroness forty thousand florins."

"Forty thousand florins! Why?"

"In order that she may meet the bill as soon as she has acknowledged her signature."

"Well, and what next?"

"You must sign deeds whereby you undertake to surrender to the children of your late sister the estates of Zoldhalom and Oroekvar bequeathed to them by your father."

"Why, they are the best paying properties of all."

"Then pay them the value of the estates in cash."

"That would seriously inconvenience me."

"Then make over your houses in Vienna and Pest."

"I cannot find it in my heart to part with them."

"Then propose some other expedient."

"Very well, I will. Give me till to-morrow to think it over."

And with that Mr. John put on his hat and took his leave.

The following day the lawyer awaited him in vain; then he waited for him a whole fortnight, but Mr. John never came near him. Then he went to the courts to find out what was being done and there he learnt, to his astonishment, that the declaration of the Baroness Hatszegi acknowledging the genuineness of her signature to the bill had already arrived.

What had happened was this: As soon as Mr. John had got Sipos's opinion gratis, he quickly traveled post to Hidvar and had a chat with his niece over the business. The poor lady was so utterly crushed by her misfortunes that she could scarce fix her mind steadily on anything and was a mere tool in his hands. She accepted the properties offered to her by her uncle—what did it matter to her now how much or how little they brought in!—and gave an acknowledgment in writing that the signature to the bill was her own.

Mr. Sipos was therefore not very much surprised when one day he received a commission from the baroness's agent to pay over the forty thousand florins in question to a financial agent at Pest. So Mr. John made a rattling good profit out of the transaction and Henrietta in return for her generosity had to pay up in cash as Mr. Sipos had shrewdly anticipated she would have to do all along. But it was all one to Henrietta.



CHAPTER XXIV

CONCLUSION

Meanwhile the long drawn out process between Mr. John and his sister Madame Langai continued its course. There was no thought of a compromise between the parties. Madame Langai expended so much of her private means in the action that nearly the whole of the property left her by her husband went in costs. She could now neither keep her coach nor live in a large house. She cooped herself up in a couple of small rooms, visited nobody and wore dresses that had been out of fashion for at least four years—and all to be able to carry on the action!

It was ten years before the suit came to an end.

Mr. John lost it and a fearful blow it was to him, for he had to pay out a million to his sister without any further delay. It is true he had as much again left for himself, but to be the possessor of only a single million is nevertheless a fearful thought to anyone who has hitherto been the possessor of two millions.

The poor plutocrat! How deeply it disturbed him to be obliged to pay his only sister her due portion! How the constant thought that he was now only half as rich as he had been before gnawed his life away! Poor, poor plutocrat!

Szilard had a brilliant career—a career extending far beyond the horizon of this simple story. He never married. Count Kengyelesy quizzed him often enough and was continually asking him why he did not try his luck again with his former ideal now that she had become a widow. All such questions, however, he used to evade in a corresponding tone of jocularity. But once when Kengyelesy inquired seriously why he never approached Baroness Hatszegi and at the same time reproached him for his want of feeling in so obstinately keeping out of the poor lady's way, Szilard replied: "I am not one of those who can be thrown away to-day and picked up again to-morrow."

After that the count never mentioned Henrietta's name in Szilard's presence again—and who knows whether there was not some impediment between these two from which no sacrament could absolve them. Who knows whether it might not after all have been as well for Vamhidy to avoid any meeting whatever with—the widow of the late Baron Hatszegi?

Yet it was she who was, in any case, the most wretched of them all. Although only six and twenty she could already be called an old woman. She was the victim of her shattered nerves night and day. The least noise made her tremble. The opening of a door was sufficient to make her start up. When she was only four and twenty she had already given up plucking out her grey hairs, there were so many of them. She found no relaxation in the society of her fellows and therefore avoided all social gatherings. Most of her time she spent at home, sitting all by herself in the remotest chamber of the house, half of whose wall was by this time overgrown by the asclepia which Szilard had given her ages ago—or so it seemed to her. This was the only one of her acquaintances which had not forsaken her, and luckily for her it was tenacious of life, for if that too had perished, with whom could poor Henrietta have held converse?

So there was at least one creature in the world to whom this possessor of millions could still confide her reminiscences and her sorrows. Poor rich lady, all the poorer because of her great wealth! Poor plutocrat!

THE END

[Transcriber's Note: Most obvious typographical errors have been corrected. Foreign words may appear at some points in the text with accents and at other points without, and proper names may be spelled differently in different parts of the text. These inconsistencies have been preserved from the original publication.]