The Village Notary: A Romance of Hungarian Life. Eötvös József
be beloved, no matter by whom!"
"If that can satisfy you," said Vilma, "I am sure there is nothing but what Kalman will do for you."
"Always excepting the being sober, and eschewing swearing, and all the clumsy affectation of a cavalier. Kalman would do any thing for me, but the one thing I ask him to do."
"Now you are unjust. I am sure he would leap into the fire for your sake."
"Of course he would, especially if some of his friends were present to extol his bravery. Kalman is very brave; it is his nature to be so; he cannot help it. He has many good qualities, I grant, but pray do not tell me that he loves me."
"I see you are again at odds with him. What is his crime?"
"He – but never mind! I will not talk about it. I cannot respect him, nor can I believe that he loves me."
"Akosh has a far different opinion of him."
"So he has!" rejoined Etelka; "but may I not question the justness of his views? Men are wont to prize their friends for those qualities which are of the greatest use to them. A good sportsman, a man that sticks to his word, and who will fight a duel for his friend at a moment's warning – such a man is their idol; they are half astonished, and more than half disgusted that we should ask for more. But I do!"
Vilma was silent. She saw that Etelka was hurt, and Etelka too wished to change the topic of their conversation. Addressing Vilma again, she said: —
"I can fancy your father's disgust last night, when he came home and learned what had happened."
"I never saw him in such a state. But Vandory came with him; he succeeded in quieting my father. I tremble when I think of it. He says he will have his right in this business."
"Never fear," said Etelka.
"But do you know whom he suspects of being the cause? He lays it all at the door of your father and mother?"
"Of my stepmother; and I am afraid he is right in his suspicions."
"Yes; but my father is again angry with all your family, except yourself. He is most violent against Akosh, who saved us from ruin. Only think if they had searched the house and found Viola! My father – "
"He will never know it."
"But if my father were to bring an action against Mr. Skinner? He protests he will do it."
"He will never do it. He was angry at the time, and I am sure he will reconsider the subject. But do not speak to him about it. If he knew it, he would not keep quiet, and there are many people who would be glad of any opportunity of showing their enmity against him."
"That's what old Mother Liptaka said. But you cannot think how distressing my situation is. I, who never kept any thing secret from my father, must now face him with an untruth. Every noise alarms me; for with my secret I lose my father's love. Oh! I cannot bear it!"
"And yet you must bear it," replied Etelka, embracing the weeping girl. "The peace of mind and the welfare of your father demand this sacrifice."
"I think so too," said Vilma; "but then you have no idea how kind my father is, and how I long to kneel down and confess my fault to him!"
"My poor Vilma," sighed Miss Rety, "I am at a loss whether I am to pity you, or to envy you. I am not in a position to confide in my parent. But be comforted: trust me, things will be altered. I understand my father is to resign after the election, and Mr. Tengelyi's anger will subside. Vandory will perhaps provide for Viola's wife. In a few weeks you will be able to tell your father all your sorrows."
"But what am I to do in the meantime? Viola came, though he knew that the whole village was in arms against him. The Liptaka tells me that he loves his wife more than I can think or understand. May he not come to-morrow, or to-night, or any time? – Jesus Maria!" shrieked Vilma, turning her pale face to the garden – "there he is!"
"Who?" asked Etelka, looking in the same direction.
"He! he is gone now, – but trust me, there he stood! I saw his face quite plainly!"
"Do you speak of Viola? Believe me you will not see him here, so long as Mr. Skinner, with half the county at his back, keeps infesting the place. How foolish and how pale you are! Come. I will fetch you a glass of water; it will do you good."
Just as Etelka got up to leave the room, some one outside knocked softly at the door.
"Oh, pray do not go!" cried Vilma. "Who can it be that knocks. It is so late! I fear – "
"Some one for your father; but we'll see. Come in!" said Etelka.
The door opened, and a Jew entered with many low bows and entreaties to excuse the liberty he was taking in saying good evening to the high and gracious ladies.
Vilma's fear, and the Jew's humility, formed so strange a contrast, that Etelka could not repress a smile, especially when she saw that Vilma remained still in bodily fear of the stranger, who stood quietly by the door, turning his brimless hat in his hands. His appearance was not that of a robber; on the contrary, he was a sickly and unarmed man; still his aspect was of a kind to make even a bold man feel uncomfortable in his presence. Jantshi, or John, the glazier (such at least was his name in this county) was the ugliest man in the whole kingdom of Hungary. His diminutive body seemed as if bowed down by the weight of his gigantic head; his face was marked with the small-pox, and more than one-half of it was covered with a forest of red hair, and a wiry, dirty beard of the same colour. He had lost one of his eyes – its place was covered with a black patch; the searching and roving look of his other eye, his shuffling gait, and his cringing politeness, made him an object of suspicion and dislike to every one that chanced to meet him. Even Etelka felt disagreeably touched by the man's looks, and she became positively alarmed when Vilma whispered to her, that that was the face which she had seen at the window.
"Mr. Tengelyi is out, I tell you," said Etelka. "You may come to-morrow morning."
"Most gracious lady," said the Jew, still turning his hat and looking round, "this is indeed a misfortune! I have some pressing business with the high-born Mr. Tengelyi."
"Well then, come back in half-an-hour; perhaps he'll be home to supper."
"If so, may I wait outside?" asked the Jew, without, however, moving from the place where he stood. "Has his worship any dogs?"
"Dogs?" said Vilma.
"Yes, if there are no dogs in the yard I can wait; but if there are any I cannot wait. I am afraid of them."
"You may wait!" said Etelka, angrily; "there are no dogs in the house."
"Yes: but there may be some in the next house. I am a stranger, and it was but last year, in the third village from here, that the dogs nearly tore me to pieces. Since that time I fear them." And the stranger told them a long story, how he was walking through the village, how the dogs attacked him, and how he was saved by a shepherd who happened to hear his cries. "Bless me!" added the Jew, "if that man had not come they would have torn my cloak, and it was a very good cloak; it was not new, but it was a good cloak, for I bought it at Pesth for five florins and thirty kreutzers."
The Jew was so cunning, and withal so awkward, that Etelka could not help laughing at him; but Vilma felt uncomfortable, and asked him to go and come back in half an hour. Whereupon the Jew said that he would wait in the servants' room.
"No!" said Vilma; "there is a sick woman lying close by the servants' room; besides, we have told you over and over again that you must come back in half an hour, and that you shall not stay."
The Jew bowed very humbly, and walking to the door which led into the kitchen, he opened it.
"Stop!" said Vilma; "where are you going to?"
"I throw myself at your feet! I ask a thousand pardons! I am so confused. May I go through that door into the yard?"
"That door is locked. Get out by the door through which you came in."
The Jew made another low bow, and walked across Tengelyi's room to the door by which he had entered; not, however, without looking to the adjoining room, dropping his hat on the floor, and turning the handle