Volume 2 — CHAPTER I.

"The Hungarian's joy is in tears," says the old proverb. And why not? Since the features of the parent tribe are handed down from one generation to another, there is nothing more natural than that we should retain the historical features of our ancestors, viz., the stamp of gravity which the events of their time impressed upon their faces. The Hungarians of old had good cause for weeping. Other nations have recovered from the wounds of the past; and, however sad their popular melodies may be (for they sprang from a time of sorrow and sadness), the lamentations of the old text have given way to merry words. But the lower classes in our country have very little to laugh at, even in these days of universal prosperity. Their songs are sad, as they were in the days when the crescent shone from the battlements of Buda. For there are people who are ignorant of all history but that of their own village, and who, consequently, have no idea that there has been any change in our country ever since the expulsion of the Turks. The peculiar gravity which characterises the Magyars is partly a historical reminiscence and partly the result of that gloomy tract of our country which is chiefly inhabited by the Magyar population. What traveller can traverse our vast plains, and keep his temper? The virgin forest, which at one time covered that plain, is gone; the powerful life of Nature is fled; the impenetrable foliage which overshadowed this fertile soil has fallen under the axe. The many-voiced carol of birds, and the merry sports of the greenwood, where are they? The forest land has become a heath, but we have little cause for rejoicing at our victory over Nature. The inhabitants of other countries see many things to gladden their hearts. Houses, trees, hedges, and corn-fields, reminding them of the thrift of their ancestors, spur them on to increased activity, and inspire them with a desire to fashion the land into a monument of their existence. Our Pusztas have nothing of the kind. All is silent and desolate, filling the mind with sad thoughts. Many generations passed over them without leaving a trace of their existence; and the traveller, as he pursues his solitary way across the heath, feels the mournful conviction that he too steps onward to the grave, that the plain will cover him as a boundless ocean.

It was past noon when Susi, accompanied by the Liptaka, quitted the village. They halted near the outer Tsharda, from whence the Liptaka returned to Tissaret, while Susi, with a small bundle of provisions under her arm, proceeded on the road to Kishlak, where she expected to find the Gulyash who was to give her news of Viola. The Tanya of the Gulyash was full seven miles distant from Tissaret, and, as the poor woman trudged on, she became painfully sensible of the effects of her late illness. More than once was she compelled to rest by the road-side, where the cold wind stiffened her limbs; and when she looked around on the vast heath, she felt overpowered by her own loneliness and the stillness around her. She remembered having heard some talk of wolves; she thought of her children and of her husband, who at that moment was perhaps struggling with fresh dangers; and she hurried on, not because she had rested, but because she was restless. Her anxiety increased as she felt that her weakness would not allow her to reach her journey's end before nightfall. The train of her thoughts was at one time interrupted by the quick trotting of a horse: her heart beat quick as she looked back, expecting to see Viola riding after her. The horseman was Kalman Kishlaki on his journey homewards. Thus disappointed, she crept on to the stone cross, which stands on the borders of the Kishlaki property. She sat down on the steps, and thought of the weary hearts that had shaken off their load of sorrow in looking up to the image of Him who came to this world to share our sorrows; and her heavy heart became lighter as she remembered that Christ died, not for the rich and the powerful, but for the poor, abandoned, and persecuted.

She was about to rise and pursue her journey, when somebody called her by her name. She turned round and shuddered, for the person who called her was Tzifra. She had never been able to look at Tzifra without a shudder. She knew the man. She knew that he was the cause of any cruelty which Viola's comrades had ever committed; and, however much she loved her husband, she felt uncomfortable, and disgusted, whenever she saw him in Tzifra's company. Viola had of late suspected Tzifra, and Susi remembered that her husband had often called him his Judas. These circumstances will serve to explain the fear with which the poor woman beheld the robber, who, leaning on his staff, looked down at her with a strange smile, which gave a still more repulsive expression to his features. "Where are you bound to?" said he.

"I'm going to see the Gulyash at Kishlak."

"Running after your husband, I dare say? Possibly the Gulyash knows where he is. What news is there in your village?"

"You ought to know it," replied Susi. "They tell me you were there with my husband?"

"Do you mean to say with Viola? Why, was he in the village?"

"Are you indeed ignorant of that robbery—you know, at the notary's?"

"Ah! I understand they've sacked his house. Well, didn't I say as much? When they told me that Viola came to the house, I knew the affair would end in a robbery. There isn't the like of Viola in three counties; there's no joking with him!"

"Don't talk in this way! I'll never believe that Viola had a hand in it."

"All I know is, that I don't know any thing about it—but who can have done it?"

"They say you did it."

"They say? Who says so? Is it Peti, the gipsy?"

"I have not seen Peti since he went to Dustbury; but the smith who pursued you told me so."

"Whoever says so is mad, and the smith more than any. He'd not live to boast of his boldness if he'd dared to run after me. I'd like to know what he pretends to have known me by? not my bunda, I hope. Curse me if it's dirtier than any body else's! Good bye; it's time for me to be off!" And the robber turned into the road which led to Garatsh. As Susi looked after him, a carriage passed her with Mr. Catspaw, who was on his way to the same place. He overtook Tzifra; the carriage stopped, and after a short conversation, the robber jumped on the back seat, and the carriage drove off.

Susi was greatly astonished. She walked as fast as she could; but still darkness began to set in when she reached the Tanya, where she found the Gulyash and Peti.

"Have you seen any thing of Tzifra?" asked the gipsy.

"Yes, I have."

"Where was he?"

Susi told them of her meeting with the robber. Peti listened with deep anxiety, and his features expressed the greatest despair when she told him that Mr. Catspaw had taken the robber with him to Garatsh.

"He's dished!" cried he at length. "He's done for! If I don't come in time, they'll nab him!"

"For God's sake, what is the matter?" said Susi, trembling.

"I can't, I must be off! Ishtvan will tell you all about it. I'll take the shortest road to the St. Vilmosh forest; get your horses, and come after me as fast as you can. You know the place. Perhaps we can manage to reach it before the justice's men. The Theiss has not run over this season; so, for God's sake, Ishtvan, don't spare your horses!" And the gipsy started off at the top of his speed.

Susi was at a loss to understand the behaviour of the two men: but seeing clearly that some danger threatened her husband, she asked with a trembling voice what had happened.

"Nothing for the present. Be of good cheer, Susi," said the Gulyash; "if any thing should befall Viola, confound it, I'll hang myself; but I'll kill that rascal Tzifra first!"

"But what is it? Oh do, for God's sake! for mercy's sake! tell me!" sighed Susi, as they entered the cottage. She sat down by the fire, and the Gulyash informed her, with many imprecations at his want of foresight, that Viola was in an awkward scrape, if not worse. Immediately after the robbery, the details of which came now first to the ears of Susi, her husband had come to the Tanya and instructed Ishtvan, who was in daily communication with the gang, to direct Peti, or any other of his comrades who might seek him, to their usual haunt in the forest of St. Vilmosh, where he intended to conceal himself until the affair was blown over, and until he could manage to restore the papers to Tengelyi. He had also asked the Gulyash to send him provisions for the next few days. The Gulyash knew nothing of Tzifra's treachery, for Viola had forgotten to inform him of it. Peti, too, had not seen the man ever since he had listened to Tzifra's conversation with the Jew; and it was therefore but natural that when Tzifra called that afternoon and asked for Viola, the Gulyash should have given him a culatsh of wine and some meat, and that he should have told him where Viola was to be found.

Peti arrived an hour later, and from him he learnt that the secret had been entrusted to a traitor. After what Susi had seen, there could be no doubt as to Tzifra's intentions, and the poor woman was in despair when she thought of her husband's danger. It was now about two hours since she met Tzifra. Garatsh was full three miles nearer to the St. Vilmosh forest, and there were hussars, horses, and policemen in the justice's house. She had no means of reaching Viola's haunt. There was no hope for him.

"I wish to God my cart would come! It ought to be here by this time, for 'tis two hours since I sent it to the village. I'll spoil that fellow's tricks if I get my horses in time. Don't grieve, Susi, my soul! these judges are not half so quick as you fancy, especially after the election. Besides, who knows whether he's at home? Peti told me that the lord-lieutenant had sent him to inquire into this business. D—n the lord-lieutenant! and d—n me too! Why didn't the devil crush me with his thirty-three thousand thunderbolts when I opened my lips to the traitor! Now don't be frightened, Susi, my soul! we are sure to be in time. My horses are the best in the county; but who the devil would have thought that Tzifra is such a scurvy beggar? He's been a robber these thirty years and more, and for all that he'll blow upon a pal, d—n me! The fellow had scarcely gone, when young Mr. Kalman came and told me of the notary having lost his papers, asking me to get them, and to tell him where Viola was to be found. He entreated me for mercy's sake, and then he cursed me; but I would not tell him; and the other fellow, the dog, got it all out of me!"

At this moment they heard the rattling of the cart. Taking his axe and bunda, he shouted with joy.

"Holloa! here are my horses!"

The cart, drawn by two stout yellow horses, stopped at the door.

"Come, Susi, take the back seat, and wrap yourself up," said he, helping her to mount. "And you may go to the devil!" he added, addressing the driver, as he took the reins; "I'll teach you to stop at the pot-house, you young cur!"

The horses started off across the plain. The sound of the wheels was lost in the distance, and the dogs that had followed it, barking and yelping, had come back from what they considered a fruitless chase. But Bandi, the driver, stood blocklike in the same place, still staring in the direction in which the cart had disappeared. He scratched his head, which Ishtvan had touched with rather a rough hand. At length he exclaimed, "I hope Ishtvan won't steal Viola's wife!"

CHAP. II.

Traveller in search of justice! doff your shoes when you come to the village of Garatsh, not only because Mr. Paul Skinner, the justice, hallows the spot by his presence, nor solely in obedience to the old saw which bids you do at Rome as the Romans do; but more especially for the purpose of donning stout water-boots in their stead, for without them you will find considerable difficulty in your progress through the place.

The villages of the county of Takshony were miserable, but Garatsh was the most wretched of them all. Its ragged roofs and crumbling walls were in keeping with the pale and emaciated faces of its inhabitants, each of whom seemed to be devoted to suffering from the day of his birth to that dark day on which they bore him to the churchyard at the end of the village, there to take his first and last rest in this world, under the high cross which marks the burial places of the Russniak population. The very church was out of repair; for its half-rotten roof gave no protection to the walls, which were stayed by poles to prevent their falling. The vicarage looked equally poor and neglected, surrounded as it was by a pond overgrown with reeds and water plants: in short, the place was altogether desolate and wretched.

I am free to confess that this is the gloomiest side of the picture, for there were other houses in Garatsh besides the miserable hovels of the peasantry. The distinguished families of the Garatsh, Bamèr, Andorfy, Skinner, and Heaven knows how many more! had successively possessed the village and built noble curias, which vied in splendour with one another. The most magnificent of them was doubtless the house which belonged to our friend Mr. Skinner. It was a noble edifice, with its bright green walls and sky-blue columns. Only one third part of the roof was covered with shingles; but as Mr. Skinner had carried the election and secured his place for the next three years, it was but reasonable to expect that the straw on the other part of the house would soon give way to a splendid shingle roof. But, straw or shingles—no matter! the dense column of smoke which issues from the chimney of the house gives it an air of substantial comfort.

It was an hour since Mr. Skinner returned from Dustbury. He left the place almost at the same time when Tengelyi left it. The election was all but over. When the Cortes understood that there were unqualified persons among Bantornyi's voters, they opposed him to a man, and at noon Mr. Rety was elected to the shrievalty. Mr. Kriver was the second sheriff, for Mr. Edeshy, who held that post, retired from the contest; and as the conquered party declined to take the field, the remainder of the elections was despatched in less than two hours. The Rety party had it all their own way. But the lord-lieutenant, hearing the news of the Tissaret robbery, ordered the justice and his clerk to proceed to the spot, and to take measures for the capture of the criminal.

His Excellency the lord-lieutenant of the county of Takshony, flattered himself with a vain belief that the justice and his clerk, accompanied by Pandurs and policemen, had by this time reached Tissaret. The great man would have found out his mistake if he had entered Mr. Skinner's room; for there he might have seen that pillar of justice seated in front of a large oak table, at the other end of which Mr. Kenihazy was busily engaged in investigating, not the Tissaret robbery, but the interior of an enormous pork pie. The two gentlemen had thought proper to yield implicit obedience to his Excellency's orders. They left Dustbury without stopping for dinner, but finding it utterly impossible to proceed to Tissaret with an empty stomach, they turned off the road and made for Garatsh. Besides, they had no men. The Pandurs were at Garatsh; the inspector was most probably at St. Vilmosh; and Mr. Kenihazy remarked, with equal justice and truth, that it could not in fairness be expected of them that they should capture the thief with their own hands. Night was approaching, and any reasonable man, especially if he be the "bête noire" of a whole gang, as was Mr. Skinner's case, will, at such a time, rather avoid a robber than seek him; and, besides all this, considering that what's done cannot be undone, there was no harm in allowing the thief to be at large for a few hours longer—nay, more, there was a chance of the said disreputable person making away with the stolen property, which was exactly what Mr. Skinner wanted, for he had no mind to soil his pure hands by touching ill-gotten gains. In short, honest Mr. Skinner had a thousand reasons for not going to Tissaret on that day; and if the lord-lieutenant could have seen him as he sat in his easy-chair, pipe in mouth, with half a dozen empty bottles on the table before him, it would have done the great man's heart good to see Justice thus thriving in the person of her most distinguished servant.

The house was "replete" with every Hungarian comfort. It was enough to make a Magyar's heart leap with joy, for the first condition of comfort is unquestionably the not being hampered in your movements. Mr. Skinner's room realised this condition to an all but unreasonable extent. No bed on earth could be narrower than the one which occupied one corner of the apartment, and the chest of drawers, which was equally small, was an asylum for any odd things that wanted a place. It was heaped with clothes, baskets, hats, and sticks; while a very small table, and a still smaller chair and sofa, presented no obstacles to the movements of the inmates. The oak table in the middle of the room was indeed an exception. It was very large; but then it served for a variety of purposes. A man might do as he liked in such a room. There was nothing to impede the free use of one's limbs. And the walls were most comfortably browned by the smoke, and covered with the pictures of Magyar heroes, in bright-coloured attilas. Fine men they were, with fabulous moustaches, with their legs, which were bent in with an excess of strength, stuck into yellow Tshismen, with calpacs on their heads, and the Buzogany[18], or a standard, in their hands: fine men, indeed, and most cheerful companions in a winter night. And the flooring of the room, which was covered with clay, and the very cobwebs which hung from the ceiling, seemed to say, "Don't stand upon ceremony! Make yourself at home! Do as you please! We are none the worse for any thing you may do!"

Mr. Skinner was fully alive to the comforts of his home. He leant back in his chair, and his soul was lost in happy dreams, such dreams as belong only to people who have been re-elected. "We're in!" said he at times, with a gentle sneer. "We're in!" he repeated, striking the table with his fist. "They'd better mind what they are about!" And he ground his teeth. He was brimful of happiness; his joy was so great he would fain have thrashed every man, woman, and child in the county to vent it. At other moments he was sad; for such is the nature of man, "that pendulum between a smile and tear:" his house spoke to him of bygone days. This was the table on which, forty-five years ago, immediately after his birth, he had been washed for the first—and, as many people in the county said, for the last—time in his life. His saddest and his brightest moments had been passed at that table, for it was here he had learned to read, and it was here he had been initiated into the mysteries of card-playing. His dearly beloved wife, too, sat by that table when he brought her to his house, and when he got so drunk with joy that he could never recollect how and when he got into bed that night. That table was the scene of many drinking bouts and heavy sentences, of which it still bore the marks in wine and ink. And he thought of the seventy florins and forty-five kreutzers which he had spent on the election, and of his sweet father, who was a justice before him; nor did he forget to think of his dolman, which had been torn by the Cortes, and of his wife having, two years ago, lost two of her front teeth, but, amidst all these conflicting thoughts, his lips smiled. "We are in," said he; "so begone dull care! There are lots of Jews in this district," thought he; "and if my sweet father were not dead, he'd be justice in my place; and, after all, I got that dolman without paying for it, and I'll have another on the same terms; and though my wife has lost two teeth, they are after all but front teeth, and there's not a woman in Hungary can cook such a mess of Tokany[19] as she does; and, taking one thing with another, I am the luckiest dog in three counties." Kenihazy, too, was most happy, especially if it be true that he is most blessed who is least conscious of his own existence. Mr. Kenihazy sat with his elbows on the table, singing his favourite song of—

It is to be presumed that Kenihazy was equally in love with the melody and text of this sublime rhapsody; for he had sung it unceasingly for the last half-hour.

"I say, Bandi!" cried the justice, at length.

But Bandi went on with his song, screaming rather louder than before.

"Bandi, I say! don't roar in that way!"

Mr. Kenihazy stared; but his voice grew still more loud.

"He's drunk!" said Mr. Skinner, rising with some difficulty, and walking up to and shaking his clerk, who at length raised his head with a "Holloa! what's the matter?"

"We're in!" said the judge; for no other thought found a place in his head. Upon this, Mr. Kenihazy burst into a laugh so long, so loud, and so uproarious, that it outdid the very chiefs whose portraits ornamented the walls. They never laughed so loud, even after their famous bargain with Swatopluk, who sold them the country of Hungary for a white steed.[20]

"What are you laughing at?" said Mr. Skinner, with an awful display of judicial gravity.

"At them!" responded Mr. Kenihazy, still chuckling. "They wanted to do us, and we've done them. Done them brown, eh? We are in!"

"Bravo! we are in!" cried the justice. "The world is to the wise!"

"And to the cunning!" said Kenihazy, tossing off his glass.

"Ay—but—yes, we are in! Look to yourselves, you rascals! You wanted to have another judge, eh? Very well; oh, very well: we'll see who has the best of it."

"And who was it they wanted to put in my place?" shouted his friend, in a generous burst of indignation; "was it not Vincenz Görögy? a mere boy, who has just left the university?" This was the more criminal in Mr. Kenihazy's eyes, as he had never been at any university.

"As for that fellow, Tengelyi, let him take care!" snarled Mr. Skinner. "I've long had a mind——"

"Capital thing, isn't it, that he isn't a nobleman now? He's now easier come-at-able."

"So he is," murmured the justice; "but they've sent us to get his papers for him."

"Yes; and when did they send us?—Late at night, in bad weather, when honest men are wont to stay at home. Think of those devils of robbers that let fly at you from their hiding-places! Did ever a Christian hear of such a thing?"

Mr. Skinner replied, with an expression of profound wisdom: "You see, Bandi, these gentlemen are ignoramuses on county business: and, to tell you a secret, his Excellency, our lord-lieutenant, is not better than any of the rest. But no matter; he gives his orders, and I do as I please; for every office has its peculiar sphere of action, you know, Bandi."

"So it has; but no Christian ought to go out in such a night," said Kenihazy, who would have uttered some severe strictures on the unbecoming behaviour of the lord-lieutenant, but for the rattling of a carriage over the stone pavement of the yard, which attracted their attention.

"Who the deuce is this?" said the justice. "I thought nobody knew of my being here!"

"Petitioners!" cried Kenihazy. "Petitioners!" said he, filling his glass: "they'll come by dozens; for, you see, we are in!"

Mr. Catspaw, who entered the room wrapped up in his bunda, put a stop to their conjectures.

"It is you, my friend!" cried Mr. Skinner, making up to and hugging the little attorney: "I'm happy you've come. We'll have a game at cards."

"Servus humillimus!" cried Kenihazy, who felt that to get up was, for him, a thing of greater difficulty than necessity.

"No gambling to-night!" said Mr. Catspaw, as he struggled in Skinner's embrace. "We must be off."

"Off! and where are you bound to?"

"Yes, yes! where are you bound to?" hiccoughed Kenihazy. "I won't stir a single step. We'll have a game, won't we, Paul?"

"D—n us, so we will!" cried the justice, striving to seize the attorney. "If you don't stay, as you ought to do, we'll have the wheels of your carriage taken off,—won't we, Bandi?"

"Yes; let us have the wheels, and let him walk home if he likes."

Mr. Catspaw shrugged his shoulders. "I wish you'd waited before getting drunk, in honour of the day!" said he.

"You rascal of an attorney! Do you mean to say I'm drunk? Do you mean to insinuate that I am not master of myself? Who is first sheriff? Rety. Who is second? Kriver and——"

"I am aware of it; but for God's sake be reasonable!"

"And who is clerk?" roared Bandi.

"Kenihazy Andrash[21], Eljen!"

"Confound your noise!" shouted the attorney.

"Very well, sir. I don't mean to offend you, but—let us be reasonable. Where do you wish us to go?"

"To St. Vilmosh!"

"I'm not drunk; and the proof is, that I won't stir from the spot!" interposed Mr. Kenihazy.

"What do you wish us to do at St. Vilmosh?"

"Viola is there. We must arrest him to-night, or never; by to-morrow morning he will have passed the stolen documents to some one else."

"Very well," said Mr Skinner, with great dignity; "we'll arrest him to-morrow."

"But I tell you by that time the papers will be gone!"

"So much the better. Am I to leave my house by night? am I to risk my neck to help Mr. Tengelyi to get his papers? Let him go himself, if he likes!"

"Yes; let him go, if he likes!" repeated Mr. Kenihazy. The attorney cast a despairing look at the meritorious functionaries, and seizing the justice by the sleeve, he led him to the window, where they conversed long and eagerly together; while Kenihazy recommenced his old song:—

"That alters the case entirely," said the justice at length. "I say, Bandi, tell the Pandurs to saddle their horses immediately."

"Yes; that alters the case entirely," groaned Kenihazy. "The Pandurs may go! D—n them, why shouldn't they?"

"But why did not you say all this at once?" said the justice, who appeared much more sober than Mr. Catspaw had hoped he would be.

"Why, you would not have me tell it in the presence of your clerk? Now send your Pandurs to St. Vilmosh, and send the inspector word to raise a posse, to arm them with pitchforks, and to wait for us at the Tsharda, close to the forest. As for Kenihazy, he'd better stay where he is. He'd be too much in our way."

"You are right. But suppose Tzifra were to cheat us? Suppose he had come to get us into a trap? Viola says he will be revenged on me, and Tzifra is one of his gang."

"Never fear. There is no necessity for us to go further than we think safe; you know I am not fond of bullets. But we can rely upon Tzifra. He is in our hands."

Kenihazy returned after a while, and told them that the Pandurs had gone off to St. Vilmosh. Mr. Catspaw took his bunda, and said,—"Let us go, then!"

"And you too? Are you going?" said the clerk, astonished, when he beheld the justice furred and cloaked, and prepared for the journey.

"Yes; but you are to stay."

"But what can you do without me?"

"We are going to make an experiment," said Mr. Skinner, laughing. "Farewell! and take care of the house!"

They took their seats in the carriage. Tzifra, who had waited in the hall, jumped up behind, and they drove off.

"This is indeed strange!" said Kenihazy.

"What can a judge do without his clerk?" He returned to the room, where he continued his potations and his song:—

At length his voice was lost in sleep, and nothing but the barking of the dogs broke through the deep stillness in and around Mr. Skinner's curia.

That worthy was meanwhile in the act of cursing the coachman's zeal, who, obedient to Mr. Catspaw's instructions, had urged his horses to a mad career; and though Mr. Skinner was very desirous to see Viola hanged, still it struck him that to break his own neck first was not exactly the way to accomplish that purpose. The jolting of the carriage, which brought his head in violent contact with the iron bands of the roof, went a great way to confirm him in his opinion.

"D—n the fellow!" cried he. "Why don't you mind the ruts in the road? Do you think you've got a cartload of sacks? Gently! confound you! gently, I say! I'll knock you on the head next time!"

"Don't be frightened!" said Mr. Catspaw, who suffered as much as his companion. "There is not a better coachman in the county. He's my lady's coachman."

"Better coachman? I protest he's drunk—dead drunk, I say!"

"Nonsense! He has not had a drop ever since we left Dustbury."

"Confound it!" screamed Mr. Skinner, taking his pipe from his mouth, which the last jolt had chucked so far down his throat that he was in some danger of swallowing it; "Od's wounds! but this is worse than the last judgment. Stop! Stop, I say! I'll get out—"

"Don't!" cried the attorney. "You cannot get out here, we are in the very deepest of the mud. Let us go on to the heath, it's dry ground there!"

"It's because the pigs have broken the ground," sighed the justice; "it's more dangerous still. Here there's at least a chance of falling on a soft place. No! I will get out."

"If you do, there is no knowing when we shall come to St. Vilmosh."

"Dear me! no! Stop! we're spilt! Terrem tette, stop! Jantshi, you beast!" screamed the justice still louder, while he clung to the cushions of the seat, and looked out for a chance of leaping to the ground.

"Go on!" cried the attorney, with suppressed laughter. "We've gained the heath now! On with you, or the cold of the night will kill us."

"Never mind the cold, if we can but get off with our bones unbroken."

"Yes, but think of my rheumatism! You know how much I suffer from it. It makes me shudder to breathe this damp air."

"You're bilious, that's the long and the short of it!" said Mr. Skinner, as the horses proceeded at a slow trot. "But mind what I tell you, that fellow will break all the bones in my body before we come to St. Vilmosh."

"Don't be a coward! You see I am not at all afraid, and yet I am as fond of my life as you can be."

"Oh, it's all very well for you to say so. You're not married; but I have a wife and four small children——"

"That's the very reason why I ought to love my life five times better than you do yours. But, mercy on us! how damp the air is, and how cold the wind! And I have forgotten to provide myself with elder flowers! Now if I don't have tea and a warm bed at St. Vilmosh, I'm a dead man; and you're my murderer, because you won't allow the driver to go on as fast as he can."

"Don't be a fool!" said the justice, very composedly, for his curses and threats had at length caused Jantshi to proceed at a slow pace. Thus they sat for a considerable time, each grunting at the cowardice of his companion. In due time they left the heath and turned again into the road. The driver cursed the horses, and Mr. Skinner cursed the driver, while the attorney bewailed his anticipated illness: in short, we may leave the party with the firm conviction that unless they make greater haste than they have hitherto done, the Gulyash is sure to reach St. Vilmosh long before they can hope to arrive there.

CHAP. III.

The concluding sentence of the last chapter expresses the very hope which animated the Gulyash Ishtvan and his companion. It was indeed three hours ago since Susi met Tzifra near Garatsh, and Garatsh was at least three miles nearer to the forest of St. Vilmosh than Ishtvan's Tanya. But it was probable that the judge had not set out immediately; and besides, those gentry travel in a carriage, and on a heavy road too, while Ishtvan's cart seems to fly over the smooth heath; and, after all, the horses of the Gulyash are the best runners in the world.

It was dark when they started. The weak rays of the new moon were absorbed by a dense fog, and it required all the instinct of locality which characterises the Hungarian herdsmen to guide them over the vast plain, which offered scarcely any marks by which a traveller might shape his course. A heap of earth, the gigantic beam of a well looming through the darkness, the remains of a stack of straw, a ditch, or a few distant willows,—such were the only objects which might be discerned, and even these were few and far between. But the Gulyash drove his horses on, without once stopping to examine the country round him, for all the world as if he had been galloping along on a broad smooth road; and the very horses seemed resolved to do their best. They tore away as though they were running a race with the dragon of the wizard student[22], while Ishtvan, flourishing his whip, more in sport than because it was wanted, called out to them, "Vertshe ne! Sharga ne! Don't they run, the tatoshes![23] They are the best horses in Hungary!"

Willows and hills, well-beams and straw stacks, passed by them; the manes of the horses streamed in the breeze; the Gulyash, with his bunda thrown back, and his shirt inflated with the air, sat on the box as if he were driving a race with the Spirit of the Storm. The horses galloped away as if the soil were burning under their hoofs.

"Fear nothing, Susi!" cried the Gulyash; "we are there before that cursed thief of a judge has left his house. Vertshe ne!" And Susi sighed, "God grant it!"

"Confound him, if we are too late. But now tell me, Susi, on your soul, did you ever ride in this way?"

"Never!" said she.

"I believe you. Sharga ne! Don't be sad, Susi; we've saved the better part of the road. At St. Vilmosh we'll call upon the Tshikosh. He'll give us a dish of Gulyashush; and if he has not got it, he'll find a filly, and kill it for our supper."

Suddenly the horses jumped aside, and stood snorting and pawing.

"What's the matter?" cried the Gulyash, seizing his whip. "What is it? Sharga! Vertshe! I see!" added he, as, straining his eyes in the darkness, he saw a wolf, which had crossed the road, and which stood a few yards off. "Poor things! the vermin have frightened them. Never mind. Go your way to Kishlak, you confounded beast! where the dogs will tear the skin off your cursed bones. I trust Peti has kept out of its way; though, after all, there's not much danger. The very wolves won't eat an old gipsy. They are a tough race."

Susi's anxiety for Peti's safety was far from yielding to the learned remarks of the Gulyash, but she was soon relieved by hearing the gipsy's voice. He called out as they overtook him on the road. They stopped, and he took his seat on the cart. "We are sure to be in time," said he; "the Garatsh road, on which the justice travels, is as heavy as can be."

"I have no hope since I saw the vermin," said Susi, sadly; "they tell me it bodes one no good."

"Don't be a fool, Susi!" said the Gulyash. "Have I not seen lots of vermin in my life, and I am still here and in luck. What are you afraid of? My horses are not even warm."

"Yes; but the cart may break. I am full of fears."

"It won't break, Susi, you see it's not a gentleman's carriage. There is a vast difference between a gentleman's carriage and a peasant's cart, just as there is between gentlemen and peasants. Your carriage is vast, and roomy, and high-wheeled, and cushioned, and painted; in short, it's a splendid thing to look at; but take it out on a heavy road, and down it breaks with a vengeance! it's full of screws and such tomfoolery, and only fit for a smooth road. Now a peasant's cart goes through any thing; and mine is a perfect jewel. The wheels are of my own make, and Peti has hooped them."

Peti was not quite so confident. "I hope there's no water," said he, scratching his head; "we've had some heavy rains, and if the low country is full of water——"

"Never mind, Peti, I'm sure it's all in good order; and you Susi, dear, don't be afraid! My brother Pishta, who lived on the other side of the river, died last week, when he was just about to leave the place. He got a passport and a landlord's discharge for the purpose. Those papers are of no use to his widow, but they are just the thing for you and Viola, for they will help you to get away. I know of a good place about a hundred miles from here, where you may earn an honest livelihood. You're not fit for the kind of life you are leading. I'll take you to the place with my own horses; you have not got much luggage. The great thing is to get out of the county; for it's a rum affair such a county, and the best of it is, that it is not too large. Don't you think so, Peti?"

But Peti made no reply, not even when Susi, catching at the faint ray of hope which fell into the gloom of her life, inquired whether the Gulyash's promise was not too good to be realised? The gipsy sat motionless, with his eyes staring into the darkness which surrounded them. They hurried on in silence, whilst the fog grew dense, and the sky blacker than before. No trace was left of either willows, mounds, stacks, or well-beams; still they pressed forward until the splashing in water of the horses' hoofs stopped their progress.

Peti's fears were but too well founded. The place where they halted was under water. The gipsy descended to reconnoitre the extent. As he advanced he beheld the plain like a wide lake, of which he could not see the end. He retraced his steps and walked to the right, but he found that the water stretched in every direction. At length he made his way to a dry place, to which he directed the Gulyash.

"Let us go on in this direction," said he, as he took his place in the cart; "there is some chance of reaching the forest. Be careful, Ishtvan, and keep close to the water, or else you'll lose your way. This here's the Yellow Spring."

"Christ save us!" cried Susi. "We are surely too late, and my poor husband——"

"No!" said the gipsy, with ill-dissembled concern; "unless the water has flooded the Frog's Dyke, we shall find the Black Lake dry, and if so we're safe. On with you, Ishtvan!"

"Confound the Theiss!" said the Gulyash, as he whipped his horses on.

"Nonsense; it's not the Theiss. 'Twas but yesterday I saw the river at Ret, it's as quiet as a lamb; but this water comes from the new ditch which the gentry have made. They make the water mad with their ditches and dykes."

"A thousand thunders! there's water here!" and he pulled the horses back, one of which had slipped and fallen. Susi wrung her hands. Peti jumped down and walked through the water. He came back and led the horses onwards. "It's not worth stopping for, my beauties," said he, addressing the horses; "you'll see some rougher work by and bye if you stay with the Gulyash Pishta." They reached the opposite bank, and hastened on until they were again stopped by the water. The gipsy wrung his hands.

"The Black Lake is brimful. There's not a horse in the world can ford it!"

"Stop here!" said Susi. "I'll walk through it!"

"Nonsense, Susi! The lake is full of holes. You are weak. If your foot slips you'll never have the strength to get up, and then you are done for."

"Hands off! let go my bunda; God will help me! but I cannot leave my husband in this last extremity!" and she struggled to get down.

"Now, Susi, be reasonable! What's to become of your children if they hang your husband, and you are drowned?"

Susi sat down by the side of the cart. She covered her face with both her hands, and wept bitterly.

"Don't be afraid, child!" said the Gulyash; "either I go over or Peti does. You see the forest is just before us, and if there's not a road, confound it! we'll make one."

"So we will!" cried Peti. "I'll cross the water, though the very devil were in it. Let me feel my way a little. Is not that the large tree we saw the other day?"

"May be it is, but I can't make it out on account of that confounded fog. There are lots of high trees in the forest."

"To the left of the tree, about two hundred yards from it, there is a clearing in the wood. On the day I spoke of, we drove through it with the cart. Don't you remember?"

"How the deuce shouldn't I remember! There ought to be some reeds to the right of the tree."

"So there ought to be! Now you go to the right and I to the left. If I can find the clearing, and if that's the tree I spoke of, I'll walk through the water; for it's a rising ground from that tree to the other bank of the Theiss."

"I'll go with you," said Susi; "my heart beats so fast—there's a murmur in my ears—let me go! I'd die with fears if you tell me to remain here."

"Susi, my soul, if I can cross the waters, I'll come back and carry you on my back. But stay where you are—stay for Viola's sake, if not for your own!"

They walked away and were lost in the darkness. Susi stood by the water, looking at the forest. "Alas!" sighed she, "I am so near him, and yet I cannot go to him!"

The poor woman was right. On the other side of the water, scarcely more than a thousand yards from the place where Susi trembled and prayed, we find Viola with his comrades, encamped in one of the few oak forests of which Hungary can boast. The soil on which this forest stood was continually exposed to the overflowing of the Theiss, to the banks of which it extended, and by which it was rather divided than confined; for another forest of oaks covered an area of several miles on the other side of the river. The forest was a noisy place in summer, when there was a plentiful harvest of acorns; the grunting of a thousand pigs, and the whistling and singing of a hundred Kondashes[24], was loud, beneath the thickly woven branches and the deep green foliage; and large fires, surrounded by fierce-looking bunda-clad figures, burned amidst the huge trunks of the trees. But in winter the forest is deserted; the huts which the Kondashes had built were overthrown by the first storms which ushered in the severe season. Only one of these huts was still inhabited. It was the one which lay farthest from St. Vilmosh, and close to the end of the forest. This hut was the favorite retreat of Viola and his gang. There was not a road or path for miles around them; and the shrubs and trees which surrounded the hut hid it so effectually, that even at twenty yards distance it was impossible to discover any trace of it. On the other side, towards St. Vilmosh, the forest extended many miles, and even the boldest among the county hussars avoided the spot, ever since an inspector and two Pandurs had been shot there. Viola was justified in fancying himself as safe as a king in his palace; for who would betray him? He was sure of Peti, and the Gulyash Ishtvan; and as for the other sharers of the secret, he was still more certain of their discretion, for they were all equally guilty, and the same punishment awaited them.

The hut, in a corner of which was the robber seated on a log of wood, was large, roomy, and well conditioned. A heap of straw, covered with bundas, which stood the robbers in place of a bed; a clumsy table, and an iron kettle, and various weapons—such were the objects on which the fire threw a broad and glaring light. Viola sat lost in deep thought, while two of his comrades, the only ones who were present that night, stretched their weary limbs on their bundas, as they stared at the burning wood and the red flames.

"I say, butcher!" said one of them, "don't you think a bit of meat would be just the thing for us?"

The speaker, whom the country had for the last twenty-five years known as a freebooter of the worst kind, was a sturdy gray-haired man, while the fellow he addressed was young and—as Ratz Andor, for such was the elder robber's name, would have it—inexperienced.

"Go to the devil!" replied the young man. "Why do you talk to me of meat?"

"Wouldn't you like it? Now, I say, you would not mind having some tobacco, would you?"

"Curse you, and begone! Why should you talk of it, since there's neither meat nor tobacco!"

"I thought you'd like a bite or a whiff; don't you?"

"You're always joking," said the butcher. "We have not had any grub ever so long. I can't stand it. I'd rather be hanged than starved to death."

"Why don't you go for something?" sneered Andor.

"How can I? you know the bees are swarming. Hand me the culatsh, old fellow!"

"Take it."

"No, not this! It's full of water. Give me the other creature, hang you!"

"I'll see you hanged, my boy, before I give it you. You've already more brandy in your head than good sense; and besides, it won't do to drink while you're fasting."

"Give me the bottle. I won't be fooled by you. I am my own master."

"You'd better be quiet," said the old robber, seizing the butcher's arm with an iron grip.

"I'll pay you out for it, you dog!" cried the butcher, as he sprang to his feet and seized his fokosh. "I'll teach you to bid me be quiet!"

Andor, who had watched his movements, rose with equal quickness, and seizing the young man's throat, thrust him into a corner.

"You must learn manners, my fine fellow! and if you don't, why you'll be stuck like a pig!"

Viola was all this while brooding over his own miseries, and the wretched lot of his wife. He knew nothing of the quarrel of his comrades, but their fight roused him.

"What is the row?" said he, rising.

"The boy wants brandy, and I want to give him a drubbing."

"Give him brandy, if there is any."

"No!" said Ratz Andor. "He shan't have it. He is more than half drunk as it is. He'll bring us into trouble!"

"But I am hungry!" cried the boy, appealing to Viola.

"Why did you come to be a robber? No one told you to come."

"And who told you?"

"My case is different!" said Andor, gloomily. "I am a deserter. I served the Emperor for ten years. I tell you, boy, I did my duty in the greatest war that ever was; and when we came home from our campaigns and they refused to let me go my ways, the devil put it into my head that I'd been a soldier overlong. So I flung my musket away, and here I am. But, confound me! if I were a butcher's son, as you are, you would not find me in the forest; nor would you Viola, take my word for it!"

"I don't care!" said the butcher, unmoved by the old man's words; "a robber's life's a merry life. I want lush!"

"Give it him," repeated Viola. "Let him take his fill."

"Why, the fellow is drunk," said Ratz Andor, doggedly. "There never was a gang of robbers but it was ruined by drink."

"We are safe for this night; though I trust Peti will come, and bring us meat from the Gulyash. The justice is at Dustbury; and as for the haiduks, they'd rather go out of our way than cross it."

"That's what you ought never to think," said Andor, shaking his head, "Ruin comes upon us when we least expect it. But if you must, you must," continued he, addressing the butcher; "so drink, and go to h—ll!"

The fellow seized the proffered bottle, and the three men were silent.

The two-fold darkness of the night and the fog was still more increased by the deep shades of the forest. The wind of autumn whistled among the dry leaves, and moaned in the upper air like a deep sigh of unspeakable woe. The hoarse croak of the raven broke the stillness at intervals, and the birds that lived in the forest awoke and flapped their heavy wings. Viola stood in the doorway of the hut. His soul was sorrowful, even unto death. The night, the silence, the loneliness of the place, the companions of his exile, all contributed to add to his grief. He thought of the days of his happiness. When the work in the field was over, when the long winter nights came on, he used to sit by his own fireside, fondling his boy on his knee, and gazing on Susi, who moved her spindle with untiring zeal. What though mists covered the land, hiding the manor-house, the huts, the church, and the banks of the Theiss,—he cared not. The powers of Nature cannot affect the happiness in man's heart: it is man alone who can destroy it. And his happiness was destroyed. "I was humble and inoffensive," said he; "and yet they did not spare me. I did my duty; indeed, I did more than my duty. I obeyed when they commanded; I took my hat off when I met them; I fawned upon them like a dog; I would have kissed their feet, to induce them to leave Susi and my child alone, to leave my house alone, and yet——" Viola remembered again all the insults he had suffered. He recollected how they would have forced him to leave his wife in her hour of sorrow; how they dragged him through the village; how Skinner gave orders to tie him to the whipping-post; how he seized the axe, and turned its edge against the head of a fellow-creature; and how the blood filled him with horror. He raised his hands to heaven.

"No!" cried he; "may God have mercy on me! but, whatever I may have done, I cannot repent it. If I were to live it over again, if I were to see them standing round me, and laughing and sneering, and if I were to see the axe,—I'd seize it again, and woe to the man that should come near me! But you, whom I never did any harm to!—you, who were the cause of my ruin!—you, who have caused my wife and children to beg their bread!—you, who made me a robber, who hunted me, who compelled me to herd with the beasts of the forest!—you, whose doings damn me in this world and in the next,—you, attorney! and you, judge! take care of yourselves: as surely as there is a God in heaven I'll have my revenge, and a bloody revenge too!—--"

At that moment there was a rustling in the wood. Viola leaned forward, and listened. The noise was as of the approach of men. There was a rustling of the dry leaves, a cracking of the branches; the ravens flew up from the trees. "Who can it be?" thought Viola. "Peti, perhaps, and the Gulyash; but how should they come from the St. Vilmosh side?"

A similar noise of approaching steps was now heard from the other side of the forest. "These are the steps of many men," said Viola; "they are in search of me." The very next moment he was fully convinced of it, for the low murmur of many voices was heard in the stillness of the night. Viola, rushing back into the hut, locked the door, and waked the butcher by giving him a kick.

"Did I not tell you so?" said the old robber, getting up, and seizing a double-barrelled gun; "and there the fellow lies! he's as drunk as David's sow."

Ratz Andor was wrong. The poor fellow, who bore his kick with the forbearance of an angel, grew quite sober when they told him of the approach of the enemy. "Is there no means of escape?" whispered he.

"We are surrounded!" said Viola. "If there are not too many of them, we are safe. Are the guns and pistols loaded?"

"They are; four double-barrelled guns, and six pistols. Let them come on! we'll give them their supper." We need scarcely remark that it was Ratz Andor who said these words.

"Light the lamp. Put it into a corner, that it may not be seen from without. Throw ashes on the fire!"

The butcher obeyed tremblingly.

"Now, Ratz, you and I, we'll stand by the two cuttings in the door. You, butcher, look to the sides; and if anybody comes up to the house, you'd better shoot him. You can have a shot at either side. But don't allow any of the rascals to put their guns through the cuttings. Cheer up, boy, you are safe enough!"

Viola and Andor, gun in hand, stood by the door, keeping a look out through the small cuttings, or loop-holes, by which the walls of the building were pierced. The butcher walked to and fro in the background. He trembled violently, and vowed reformation if he could only manage to escape with his life.

"The birds are roosting!" cried a loud shrill voice, which evidently proceeded from Mr. Skinner. "They are there! I see a light in the hut. Is it surrounded on all sides?"

Forty or fifty voices, which answered to this call, informed the robbers that there was no chance of escape. The butcher knelt down, and made the sign of the cross.

"You dog! I'll shoot you!" said Ratz Andor. "Stand up, and be a man. Stand by your cutting, and let fly at them!" The butcher obeyed.

"Robbers, I call on you to surrender!" cried Mr. Skinner. "If you refuse to surrender on this summons of the county, you are liable to be tried by court-martial."

All was silent in the hut, and the justice gave the word of command.

"At them, you rascals! Break the door. At them!"

A rush was made against the door; but before the axes of the assailants could touch it, the report of two muskets was heard. Two Pandurs fell; the rest retreated; and Ratz Andor shouted from the hut: "Come on!"

At that moment the butcher likewise fired his piece. He too brought down one of the judge's men. This frightened the besiegers, who turned and fled. They paused for a time. The robbers reloaded their muskets, while the besiegers assembled round Mr. Skinner and the inspector. Mr. Catspaw, with a modesty which did him infinite credit, kept at a distance.

"I don't see how we can catch them," said the inspector, leaning on his broad sabre, which had done good service in the insurrection of 1809, and of which the blade, which bore the mark of "Fringia," could not have been in better hands.

"Make another onset, and another and another!" cried the justice, stamping his foot. "Don't leave off until you've got them, the rascals, and bound them and hanged them!"

"I'll do it, if it can be done!"

"Can be done? There is nothing but can be done when I command!"

"Very well!" said the inspector, angrily. "It won't be my fault if it is not done. I'll stick to the mark any day if your men don't turn tail."

"If the fellows don't go, they are dogs and cowards! Knock them down, and be——"

"Well, sir, all I can say is, you'd better lead them to the charge, and knock them down at your liking, I'm not made for that sort of thing."

"No, sir!" said Mr. Skinner, doggedly. "That's not my post. It is my duty to superintend and conduct the affair."

"You're a—never mind! Go at them, my men!" shouted the inspector. The justice repeated the words of command with a still louder tone; and Mr. Catspaw's shrill voice was heard echoing the words from behind a distant oak. The inspector, flourishing his sword, and followed by the Pandurs and peasants, advanced towards the hut, but they were again fired at from within. The report of the muskets was followed by deep groans, which showed that the robbers had taken a good aim.

The Pandurs retreated. "On with you! Go on! before they've had time to charge! There's no danger now!" and the inspector, followed by a few of his boldest men, made another rush at the door. Another discharge! The inspector had his left arm broken, and one of the Pandurs was shot through the body.

"On! at them!" shouted the leader, nothing daunted; "they've got no powder now! On! on!" and, seizing an axe, he advanced again, while his men, partly because they believed that the robbers were short of ammunition, and partly yielding to the excitement of the combat, loaded their pieces and followed him. But musket after musket was fired by the robbers inside, and almost each shot took effect. The wailings of the wounded, the oaths of the besieged and the besiegers, the reports of the muskets, and the glaring flash which accompanied each discharge, were made still more fearful and startling by the darkness of the night; while the inspector's voice, as he urged his men on, was distinctly heard in the midst of the general confusion.

"Give me that piece!" shouted he, flinging his axe, and snatching a musket from the hand of a Pandur. "Now that's for you, Viola!" and he fired it into the hut.

A scream and a heavy fall was heard. But before the inspector could vent his joy in words, the fire was returned from within, and the peasant who stood at his side had his skull shivered. "Give me another musket!" roared the inspector, but in vain; the Pandurs hastened back to the judge, who stood at a safe distance, cursing and urging the combatants on. Their leader, finding that he was left to fight the battle alone, returned likewise, with his shoulder pierced by a bullet.

"Why, you cursed rascals! how dare you come back? Where's the robber?" cried the intrepid judge, flinging down his pipe in a paroxysm of rage. "Where is Viola? how dare you come back without him?"

Nobody answered. One of the Pandurs stooped for the pipe, which, strange to say, was not broken.

"Knock the ashes out and give it a good cleaning, you rogue! It won't draw!" said the justice; and, turning to the others, he proceeded: "Did I not order you to bring the robber? to seize him and bind him?"

"Your worship," said one of the men, "we did all that men can do. There are four of us killed, and half the rest wounded. They've broken the inspector's arm."

"There are at least ten robbers in the hut. The cuttings are black with the muzzles of their guns. It's quite impossible to go up."

"Impossible? who dares to say any thing is impossible? I'd like to see the man who dares to say it! Impossible? when I say it is possible! why you scurvy——"

"He's right!" said the inspector. "If you would take Viola, you must have better men than the like of these."

"But I say they shall take him! I'd like to know who is the master, you or I?"

"Your worship had better try. I've done my duty, and I'm done for, at least for this night. Both my hands are disabled; I am not a match for a child in arms."

Mr. Skinner shook his head.

"I was not aware, sir,—it's a pity you are wounded. The wounded must of course fall back. As for the rest, let them stand in a line. Well done! March! March! Ma——"

The word of command was broken off by another discharge from the hut, and the line, which had begun to move, fell back in disorder. As for Mr. Skinner, he took refuge behind a tree. He knew that his safety was essential to the success of the expedition.

"Forward, you cowards! March! March!" shouted he; but none obeyed.

"March! I say. Will you, or not?" screamed the justice, collaring the man who stood next to him.

"No, I will not!" said the man, as he slipped aside.

"You won't. Very well, sir, I'll pay you out for this! What's your name?"

"Kovatsh Miksha, a nobleman of St. Vilmosh. I will not go, even to please your God!"

"Oh, I beg your pardon! I did not know you! But who's this fellow?"

"That's my cousin, Andrash. He's a nobleman, and he won't go!"

"Why, where the deuce are the peasants?"

"Shot, or run away!"

"The rascals!" cried the judge; "the cowards! Never mind, I'll make them pay for it!"

"I beg your worship's pardon," interposed the inspector; "but my opinion is that we had better go home. We have done our duty, and there are only fifteen men here. The rest are either dead or run away. We have no chance of success. When Viola finds out how few there are of us, and that we cannot watch the hut on all sides, he will make his way out into the forest."

The justice was on the point of yielding, when Mr. Catspaw approached the group. He suggested another scheme. "Put fire to the hut," said he. "They will find it too hot to hold them; they will come out; and when they do, you shoot them down." His advice was eagerly adopted. The inspector was frantic with joy, and a Pandur was at once sent off to carry the scheme into effect. The men of St. Vilmosh and the Pandurs took their places in the thicket, ready to fire at the robbers; and Mr. Skinner was so violent in expressing the pleasure he felt, that he swore twice as much as before.

The situation of the robbers was far worse than their assailants suspected. The shot, which the inspector had fired through the cutting, had pierced the broad chest of Ratz Andor. He lay on his back, groaning, and moving his limbs in a pool of blood. The butcher walked to and fro with alternate oaths and prayers, and cursing the day of his birth.

Viola was quiet and silent. He felt convinced that his hour had come, and he awaited death fearlessly. The thought of his family alone was a weight upon his heart. For a moment he thought of flight. There was a possibility of escape by breaking through the roof, and escaping from the back of the hut. But he looked at his old companion, who lay bleeding at his feet, and who had once saved his life. His resolution was taken. He could not leave that man in the hour of his agony. Immediately afterwards he heard them prepare for another attack, and he awaited his fate with firmness and resignation.

"Fire at them!" said Ratz Andor, when he heard the noise outside, "fire at them, to the last man!"

"We are short of bullets. There's plenty of powder, but no lead." Ratz Andor drew a deep breath.

"A thousand devils! is there no shot?"

"No. There's a gun and two pistols loaded—that's all."

"Give me a pistol!" whispered the robber, holding out his hand to Viola; and when his comrade, who understood the purport of the request, handed him the weapon, he clutched it with an eager hand, muttering—

"Let them come now! They won't take me alive, I warrant you!"

"I say!" whispered the butcher, pointing to Ratz Andor, "is he dead?"

"No; don't you see him breathing?"

"But he'll die!—don't you think he'll die! I say, Viola, don't you think we'd better surrender? Perhaps they'll grant us a pardon."

"A pardon? If they don't shoot us, I'll give you my word of honour they will hang us before to-morrow night."

"I don't mean a full pardon," whispered the wretch, as if choking with fear; "not to pardon us so that we may go about; but perhaps they'll lock us up—say five years, ten years, I would not mind twenty years, and whip us every month, and make us starve and work—I would not mind it in the least, if they don't hang us. Don't you think, Viola, they would pardon me, if I were to beseech them—if I were to go down upon my knees, intreating them to spare my life. You see, Viola, I am so young. I never killed anybody! I never hit any one to-night!"

"Poor fellow!" said Viola, as he gently disengaged his hand from the trembling grasp of his comrade, "don't tell these things to me—tell your judges.—But what is this!" cried he, pointing to a corner of the hut—"what is that smoke?"

"The hut is on fire!"

"Hurrah!"

"Let fly at them! Exterminate them! Kick them back into the fire!" shouted Mr. Skinner, outside.

"They have put fire to the hut!" cried Viola, shuddering.

Ratz Andor opened his eyes, and, half leaning on his hands, he looked around. "Don't be caught alive;" gasped he, "and, if you can, shoot the judge, and die as a man!"

These were the robber's last words; for, raising his pistol, he pressed the muzzle to his head. His hot blood fell on Viola's hands.

"Our father!" groaned the butcher, kneeling down—"they'll burn us to cinders—which art in heaven—give me the bottle, I'll put it out—Heaven help us, it is brandy—it burns like hell—hallowed be thy name—Viola, you're the death of us—and forgive us—why did you steal the notary's papers?"

At this juncture the miserable man raised the bottle to his lips and drank, until, overcome with the combined effects of the liquor and the smoke, he fell down by the side of Ratz Andor.

His last words reminded Viola of the papers, which he had forgotten in the excitement of the conflict. He was resolved to bury himself amidst the burning ruins of the hut. Susi need not then take her children to the gallows to show them their father's grave. But, as it was, he felt he was compelled to live. His family had received protection at Tengelyi's hands. The papers were of the greatest importance for the notary. He could not allow them to be burned, nor could he leave the world under a suspicion of having ruined his benefactor. It was utterly impossible.

The fire and the heat increased in violence and intensity. Viola's hair was singed, he could not breathe the hot air, he could not see. In another moment his escape from the hut was impossible. He seized the papers, opened the door, and rushed out.

Mr. Skinner's party had not for the last few minutes heard any sounds proceeding from the interior of the hut. They saw it in flames, and they saw that no attempt to leave it was made by the people inside. They felt convinced that the robbers had somehow or other effected their escape. The report of the pistol, by which Ratz Andor put a term to his sufferings, confirmed them in their opinion, for it caused them to believe that the explosion was owing to the fire having reached some weapon which had been left behind. Even Messrs. Skinner and Catspaw, though sorely disappointed, ventured to approach the hut; and so it happened that when Viola, gasping, half blind, and all but choked, left the hut, holding the papers, wrapped up in a cloak, in his hand, he ran into the clutches of these two men.

Mr. Catspaw snatched the papers from him and ran back, while the Pandurs hastened to the spot and surrounded Viola. The robber was unarmed; but his appearance, his notorious strength, and the terror of his name, which every one of his pursuers shouted, as if for the express purpose of frightening his fellows, made even the boldest cautious of coming too near him; if his hand had held a weapon, if there had been strength in his arm, he might have broken through their ranks. But Viola did not think of resistance. His agonies, both of body and mind, had overcome the iron strength of his frame. He opened his eyes, but he could not see. His chest heaved violently; his arms trembled as he raised them to find a means of support. In another moment he lay senseless on the ground, and his enemies struggled for the honour of binding him. Mr. Skinner was obliged to exert the whole of his authority to put a stop to the frantic cheers of his followers, and arrangements were made to take the prisoner to St. Vilmosh, when low groans and cries for help were heard from the burning hut. They shuddered and were silent. Nothing was heard but the crackling of the fire and the loud wailing of the wretched man inside. At length one of the Pandurs stepped forward.

"I'll try to get him out!" said he.

He advanced.

A fearful explosion put a stop to his progress. The gunpowder, which the robbers kept in the hut, caught fire and finished the work of destruction. The wailing ceased with the flash of powder, which hurled the roof of the hut into the air and strewed the turf with its burning fragments. Mr. Skinner's party were horror-struck.

"Bad job that!" said the inspector, who was the first to recover from his surprise. "D—n the fellows!"

"Is it all over?" cried the justice, from his place of refuge behind a tree.

"Yes, your worship."

"But is there no more powder in the place?"

"It's in the nature of powder," said the inspector, "that it blows up in a lump. But your worship need not come here, for our business is done. I'll have the robber carried by some of the men."

Viola, who was still in a fainting state, was lifted on the shoulders of two strong fellows, and the whole troop proceeded towards St. Vilmosh.

"Did you get the papers?" whispered Mr. Skinner to Mr. Catspaw.

"Yes," whispered the attorney; "I've thrown them into the fire."

They turned into the thicket, and the scene of their violence was left lonely and desolate.

CHAP IV.

We will not attempt to describe Susi's feelings while this scene was enacting in her immediate neighbourhood. A short time after we left her on the banks of the Black Lake, the Gulyash and Peti returned from their reconnoitering expedition. They had identified the cutting by the reeds and the tree. When they returned, they secured the horses, and prepared to cross the water again. Peti led the way. He was followed by the Gulyash, who carried Susi on his back. But they had scarcely advanced to the middle of the ford, when they were startled by the reports of fire-arms and the shouts of the combatants.

"We are too late!" cried Susi; "take me to him, and let me die at his feet!"

A second discharge of musketry was heard. Some of the fugitive peasants fled in the direction of the lake. The Gulyash and his companions were sufficiently near the shore to hear their steps as they ran. The Gulyash was strong in hopes.

"Never fear, Susi!" said he; "don't you hear the rascals running away. There's not a man of them likes to come to close quarters with Viola."

Peti advanced. They reached the shore. But the affray recommenced in the forest. There was firing, shouting, curses, and the howling of the wounded.

Susi made a frantic rush from the side of the Gulyash; but the two men held her back. She knelt down. Her soul was full of Viola's danger. Did she not hear his enemies? Did they not seek his destruction? She would have prayed, but she could not pray. She tore her hair in the fulness of her despair,—she cursed; a light shone from the wood—a broad glaring light! The triumphant shouts of the besiegers left no doubt as to its nature and origin. Susi rose, and wrung her hands.

"They have put fire to the hut! they will burn my husband!" screamed she. She fell back, and fainted in the gipsy's arms. When she recovered, and proceeded to the scene of the contest, all was quiet and still. No sound was heard, either of the victors or their prey. The spot was covered with splinters and fragments of wood, many of which were still burning. Their faint and uncertain light added to the desolate character and the gloom of the scene.

Susi was calm. Her boding heart had known the worst long before she came to the spot, and when she had reached it she stood in silence, covering her eyes with her hands. Peti and the Gulyash stood by her side; but neither spoke a word of comfort. They felt that such would have been a mockery in that hour and at that place.

"Peti!" said Susi at last, "get a light. There's plenty of wood on the ground. I want to look for my husband." Peti sighed, and prepared to obey. The Gulyash was far more shocked by the poor woman's calmness than by her former violence. Dashing the tears from his eyes, he said,—

"Susi, my soul, go to that knot of trees yonder. Sit down and take your rest, while we look for him; that is to say, not for your husband, for depend upon it he wasn't here at all, but it's the others we'll look for, in case an accident has happened to one of them. Be quiet, Susi," continued he, taking her hand; "I know your husband was not there; I'll take my oath on it he was not!"

The poor fellow knew that what he said was an untruth. He knew that the fire which Peti was lighting would probably show them Viola's mangled corpse amidst the ruins of the building, or else that Viola must be a captive in the hands of his bitterest enemies; but gladly would he have bartered his hopes of future salvation for one ray of hope to cheer the heart of that wretched woman.

"No, Ishtvan," said Susi; "I know all,—I am prepared for the worst. You won't find me troublesome when I see him half burned. Alas! I know it is better for him to lie dead in my arms, than to be alive and in the power of his enemies. Here, at least, his sufferings are ended."

"But why won't you believe me, if I tell you that Viola was not here? I'll be cursed if he was! Why the devil will you walk about in the smoke, looking for what you are sure not to find? This isn't a place for a woman; and if you were suddenly to set your eyes on something nasty you'd be the worse for it. Go back, Susi, I'll promise you we'll turn every stone in the place."

"I thank you, Ishtvan,—I thank you a thousand times for all you do for me," said Susi; "fear nothing: you see I am strong; and whatever may meet my eyes, it will but give me certainty, which is the best that can happen to me. If my husband be dead, we will bury him here in the forest. I shall know the place of his rest, and I can show it to my children, and weep with them."

"But I tell you Viola is not here," said the Gulyash. "Just suppose you were to see a fellow all scorched and burnt? I'll tell you it's not a sight for women. Why, if you were in good health I wouldn't mind it. Two years ago, when there was a fire in my Tanya, no less than two of my children were burnt to death; and my Lady Kishlaki, when she saw the poor things all black and——"

"I am not a My-lady. The like of her have a right to be shocked and to faint. I am a robber's wife, you know. I say, old man, if you could know what thoughts there have been in this poor head of mine ever since Viola became a robber, what dreams mine were when waiting for my husband the livelong day, or the long weary night, at home or on the heath; and when he did not come what horrible things I have thought of, and felt and wailed over,—oh, if you could but know it, as I am sure you can never know it, you'd not fear to see me shocked at any thing. The very worst that can happen to me is but one kind of misfortune; but I have suffered all torments of hell, and for long, long years too!"

The gipsy had meanwhile lighted a fire; and Susi walked over the ground. By the door lay the corpse of the St. Vilmosh peasant, who was shot at the inspector's side. Several other bodies were found at some distance, near the forest. Susi looked at them with intense anxiety; and then seizing a torch, she hastened forward, and held it over the ruins of the hut.

The sight was such, that even the old Gulyash himself shuddered. The fragments of the table still smouldering, muskets and pistols strewed about, and the two blackened corpses, presented so repulsive a spectacle, that none could have resisted its influence, but those who are accustomed to the horrors of war. Susi examined the corpses, and said at length:

"He is not here. Neither of them has a silver ring on any of their fingers. Viola would never have lost his silver ring. My husband is a prisoner!"

"Nonsense! I dare say he——"

"What is this?" said Susi, stooping down and taking a double-barrelled gun from the ground; "that's my husband's gun! take it, and keep it for his sake."

"I will. Whenever I find him, he'll have his gun."

"May God bless you for your good will!" continued Susi, "to accompany me further would put you in danger. Peti will come with me to St. Vilmosh, for it is there, I am sure, my husband is."

They separated. The Gulyash returned to his horses, while Susi and Peti hastened to St. Vilmosh, where the first burst of excitement at the capture of the robbers had by this time subsided. The justice and the attorney had gone to bed. The villagers who had taken part in the expedition had, some of them, retired to rest; while the others drowned their cares and the recollection of their dangers in the bad wine of the public-houses. Viola, whom they had put under the shed of the council-house, where he was guarded by a chosen body of haiduks and peasants, had fallen asleep.

The wretched man awoke to consciousness as they dragged him through the forest to St. Vilmosh; and looking round, by the fitful glare of the torches which the Pandurs carried, he became sensible of his desperate condition. His thoughts returned at once to Tengelyi's papers. When he left the burning hut, he was so confused, so blinded, so maddened, that he had no idea of what had become of them, or who had taken them from him. He questioned his escort; but those whom he asked refused to reply to his questions. One man only told him, when he left the hut, the persons next to him had been the justice and the attorney; and that one of them had indeed snatched a parcel from his hand.

From the moment Viola found himself in the power of his enemies, he made no resistance to any thing they did to him. The violence and ill-treatment to which they subjected him elicited no complaint from his lips. When they came to St. Vilmosh, where they placed him under the shed, the justice stepped up and told them to bind him so as to wound his hands, to prevent his escape. Viola asked him what had become of the papers? But the justice replied, with many oaths, that he had no business to ask any questions; and what the devil he meant? Viola saw clearly that Mr. Skinner was prepared to deny any knowledge of the papers; or else that they must have fallen into the hands of Mr. Catspaw, who, from his previous exertions to obtain them, was not likely to restore them to the rightful owner.

"For this then did I surrender! for this I am going to be hanged!" sighed he, when they left him alone with his sentinels,—"why did I not stay in the hut? Why did I not shoot myself, as Ratz Andor did? All is over for them; but I must die an infamous death—and for no purpose too! I could not save the notary's papers. God cursed me in the hour of my birth! Did I not often attempt to return to the paths of honesty? and when every means of doing so was taken away from me, did I not do all I could to prove my gratitude for the only kindness that was ever shown me? Did I not do my best to help the notary? And what has come of it? No, God will not allow me to be good and honest; and I must die on the gallows! Very well, what must be, must be! a man cannot oppose his fate!"

Thoughts like these, joined to that feeling of lassitude which follows extreme fatigue, restored Viola to his usual calmness; and a deep sleep buried the misfortunes of the day, for a time, in forgetfulness. Peti, who, leaving Susi at a distance from the village, proceeded alone to the council-house, found him in this condition. He was not allowed to enter the yard; for, by the express order of the justice, even the sentinels were forbidden to speak to Viola, or to reply to any of his questions. But Peti conversed with a sentinel at the gate, whom he told that he was just come back from Dustbury. The man, in his turn, told him of the capture of Viola, and that the robber was to be brought to Kishlak, where the court-martial was to assemble; and likewise, that a horseman had been sent to Dustbury to summon old Kishlaki, who was the president of the court-martial in this district. The gipsy cast a rueful look at the shed where Viola lay on the floor, and turning away, he hastened to the place where he had left Susi.

"Have you seen him?" said she, hastening to meet him when he approached.

"I have. He is in the council-house."

"Is he in the house?"

"No!—that is to say, not wholly. No—not in the house. Under the shed, you know."

"In the open air!" cried Susi, wringing her hands. "Oh, God! and the night is so cold; and he in the open air!"

"No! not in the open air—at least not quite. There's a roof to the shed."

"Has he a bunda?" continued Susi. And as she spoke she stripped herself of her own wrapper. "Tell me if he has not, for I wish to send him this."

"Oh, but he has! He has a large bunda. He is asleep." Susi grasped the gipsy's hand.

"Asleep? Did you say asleep? And do they see him sleeping? And you're sure they think it is sound, genuine sleep? They do not suspect him of pretending to sleep—do they?"

"But why should they suspect him of that?"

"What do they think of it? Can they not see that my husband is innocent? Who ever heard of a criminal's sleeping? Speak, Peti—tell me—what do they say to it?"

Peti answered that he had not spoken to anybody, but that there were some hopes of Viola's escape. He added:

"Early in the morning they mean to take him to Kishlak. If you want to speak to him, you must do it there. You can't do it at St. Vilmosh. They won't allow anybody to speak to him."

"I know it all," sighed Susi. "At Kishlak they will hold a court-martial, and hang him. They do not care for his innocence, nor for his quiet conscience, nor for his sleeping more soundly on the hard cold ground than they do in their beds! They want his life, and they will have it; but come, come! come along to Kishlak. I must see him!"

"You poor woman! You are not able to walk to Kishlak."

"Whom do you mean? Not me? Why should I spare my feet? I shall not want them much longer!"

But Peti was obstinate: he would not hear of Susi's walking. He knew the smith of the place, who, as a gipsy, was compelled to live at some distance from the village. This man willingly offered the loan of his horse and cart, and, on Peti's suggestion, he volunteered to drive Susi to Kishlak; while Peti himself set off to Tissaret, to inform the notary of what had happened, and to bring Viola's children to their father.

CHAP. V.

Mr. Skinner had meanwhile sent an official despatch to Kishlak, in which he informed his friend, Kishlaki's steward, of what had happened; desiring him, at the same time, to make due preparations for the sitting of the court-martial, and the incarceration and execution of the prisoner. This letter, which reached Kishlak before break of day, put the whole place in commotion. The stout steward, whose fear of all exercise, no matter whether mental or bodily, was so great that it was said of him, that the only reason why they kept him at Kishlak was because he was a living example of the results of high feeding,—even he rose with the sun, and put on his best coat with silver buttons. He walked about the yard with the carpenter and the butler, who had jointly undertaken to build the gallows.

"We must make it comfortable, you know," said he, alluding to the reception of the guests; and turning to the carpenter, he added, "Do your best to make it high and strong. I trust they'll take care of the servants. It's hardly my province, but I'll warrant you the gentlemen will not complain of the accommodation. You'd better make a good strong wedge in this place, it's there we'll tie him up; and don't let the men go out to-day, I'll have them all to witness the execution. It'll do them good to see something of the kind. The engine, too, ought to be looked after, in case there should be a fire." In this way he went on, every now and then wiping his forehead and exclaiming, "Dear me, how hot it is! I'm done up with all this trouble, done up, I tell you!" To which his companions sighed their assent.

The news of the assembling of the first court-martial under Mr. Kishlaki's superintendence, caused a still greater excitement in the house. There is no denying that the steward came out strong; indeed such was his activity, that whoever saw him was induced to regret that there was not a permanent court-martial sitting at Kishlak, in which case that corpulent and meritorious person would have figured as an active member of society; but after all he was repaid for all his troubles by the sense of his personal dignity. That day formed an epoch in his life. It was a day to think of, and to talk of, and to count the years by.

Not so Lady Kishlaki. She was anxious, and all but desponding; and when the steward told her that the court were to assemble in her house, and that the criminal was to be hanged on her own land, she wrung her hands as if the greatest misfortune had happened to her.

"Why do they come to us, of all the people in the world? My goodness! is not the county large enough? Must they needs hang that robber here, under my very nose?"

The steward was far more alive to and sensible of the distinction which the event gave to the village.

"Your ladyship forgets," said he, "that my lord, in his quality as the late and illustrious sheriff, has been appointed to the post of a president of the courts-martial in the district of Tissaret, which, if your ladyship will condescend to remember, will satisfy your ladyship that the high respect and signal honour——"

"Signal fiddlesticks!" cried Lady Kishlaki. "I'll never dare to walk in and out of my own house, if they hang the fellow in my yard."

"Your ladyship is graciously pleased to be mistaken," said the corpulent steward. "An impressive example of this kind has an excellent effect upon the safety of person and property. I know of a similar case, which happened in another county. For a period of not less than two years, I assure your ladyship, the county was a scene of incessant depredations, robberies, and worse. At length two men were arrested and hanged; and from that day there was an end of all murders and robberies. One of the parties was quite a stranger to the gang, and as innocent as the unborn babe. But they hanged him, and I assure your ladyship the effect was marvellous. I am happy we are going to hang a man: it's a blessing to the county, a genuine blessing, your ladyship!"

"Nonsense! The robbers never did us any harm."

"No, not exactly; but if your ladyship will condescend to look at the bill of the Gulyash, your ladyship will be pleased to find that what they have eaten on your ladyship's land amounts to the value of a good substantial theft."

"I'd rather lose twenty times the value, than see a man hanged, and on my own land too," said Lady Kishlaki, turning away to make due arrangements for the reception of her guests; while the steward marvelled at his lady's peculiar frame of mind, and her greater fear of a dead robber than of a living one. Having pondered on the matter until he arrived at that comfortable state of hopeless confusion which is so familiar to stout people's minds, he repeated his orders to the lower officials, and marched to and fro in the hall, smoking his pipe, and awaiting the arrival of the prisoner and the judges. The villagers, too, were crowded in front of the gate, where they stood eager, curious, and alarmed.

Kishlak is at the distance of a German mile from St. Vilmosh; when the waters are high, it takes a man at least three hours to walk from one place to the other; but in spite of the distance, Mr. Skinner, his clerk, and his prisoners, reached Kishlak first. They were followed by Mr. Catspaw, who had gone round by Tissaret. After him came the master of the house, and the judges whom he brought from Dustbury. The latter party made their appearance in two carriages, of which one was honoured by the weight of Kishlaki and Baron Shoskuty, while the second held the assessor Zatonyi, and the recorder's substitute, Mr. Völgyeshy. The recorder sent him principally because he knew that the court was in want of the services of a notary, the functions of which office were far too much beneath the recorder's dignity to allow of his executing them. He therefore sent Völgyeshy, a young man who had just been appointed to his office, who was eager to be employed, and whose knowledge of law enabled him to assist the court with his advice. Völgyeshy's appearance was by no means agreeable. He was small, sickly, and ill-made, and his face was strongly marked with small-pox; but he was a man of great learning, and as modest as he was clever. He was a general favourite at Dustbury; old Kishlaki, who felt even more shocked than his wife when he heard of Viola's capture, and of his being called to preside over the court-martial, shared the joy of Baron Shoskuty and the assessor, when they were informed of the recorder's intention to send his substitute to act as notary. Baron Shoskuty was happy, because he knew that Völgyeshy was a good hand at law; Kishlaki because he was a good hand at cards; and the assessor, because the young man would listen to any stories, no matter of what length and dullness. When the party arrived, they found Messrs. Skinner and Catspaw—"arcades ambo; id est, blackguards both,"—awaiting them. Mr. Catspaw rubbed his hands for joy when he saw that none of the members of the court were likely to cross his plans by an excess of philanthropy.