Lady Apafi, not without an effort, resumed her habitual coldness, wished her servants good night, and was already on her way to her chamber, when Clara rushed forward and kissed her mistress’s hand. The lady looked at her with astonishment. She felt that a burning tear had fallen on her hand, which the girl held fast and pressed to her lips.
“What ails you?” asked Dame Apafi, much surprised.
“Nothing,” replied the girl, sobbing; “it is only that I feel so sorry for your ladyship. I have long had an idea in my head, but have never yet dared to express it. We have often talked about our master’s captivity and his grievous ransom. We village girls have all of us got necklaces of gold and silver coins which are no good to us. So we have agreed among ourselves to club together all this money now lying idle and give it to your ladyship towards our master’s ransom. It may not be much, but still is something.”
Lady Apafi, her eyes glistening with involuntary tears, pressed hard the peasant girl’s trembling hand.
“I thank thee, my girl,” she said, deeply touched. “I prize thy offer more highly than if my sister Banfi had placed ten thousand gold chains at my disposal. But God will also be my helper. In Him is my trust.”
At that moment the trampling of horses was heard in the courtyard and the dogs fell to barking.
“Who can that be? Robbers, perhaps!” stammered the old nurse, and neither of the two servants durst approach the door.
Then Dame Apafi took the light from the table, stepped to the door, opened it, and looked out into the courtyard.
“Who’s there?” she cried, loudly and clearly.
“We!—I mean to say I,” returned a hesitating voice, which all three immediately recognized as Andy’s.
“Oh, ’tis you? Come hither quickly!” said Lady Apafi joyfully, pushing Andy into the room, who was plainly very much confused, for he kept on twirling about his hat in his hands, and looked sheepishly at the floor.
“Well, did you see him and speak to him? Is he well?” asked Lady Apafi impetuously.
“Yes, he is quite well,” replied the man, glad to have found his voice again; “he respectfully kisses your ladyship’s hand. He also bade me say that God is good!”
“But what do you keep looking sideways for? At whom are the dogs barking?”
“At the black horse perhaps; it is a long time since they saw him.”
“And you gave the purse to the Mirza?”
Instead of answering this question, Andy began to fumble about in the pocket of his sheepskin jacket, and as this pocket was very high up, narrow and deep, his features expressed the most exquisite torture till he had fished up the parchment, and he trembled all over as he handed it to his mistress.
“Is there still much in arrear? What says the Mirza?” asked Lady Apafi, with a very shaky voice.
“There is not much more. One might even say there is very little,” replied Andy, with downcast eyes, fumbling in his confusion with the rim of his hat.
“But how much, how much then?” they all cried together.
Andy got very red.
“Well—well, there is nothing at all!”
He said this in a broken voice, and with that he burst into a loud and long roar of laughter, and immediately after wept as if his heart would break.
The mind of Dame Apafi instantly grasped the whole truth.
“Speak, man!” cried she passionately, seizing the fellow by the shoulder; “you have brought my husband back with you?”
Andy waved his fist behind him and nodded his head; he laughed and wept at the same time; but, to save his life, he could not have uttered a word.
Dame Apafi, with a sob and a cry of boundless joy, rushed to the door which already stood ajar. Someone had been waiting there and listening all the time; it was Michael Apafi, her long expected, often bewailed consort.
“Michael! my beloved husband!” cried the woman, trembling with emotion; and half swooning, half beside herself, she fell upon her husband’s neck, murmuring unintelligible words of love, joy, and tenderness.
Apafi pressed her to his breast. She embraced him convulsively; no other sound was to be heard but a deep sobbing.
“Thou art mine!” she stammered, after a long pause, when the tempest of her emotion had somewhat subsided and she was more herself.
“I am thine,” cried Apafi; “and I swear that nothing in the world shall ever tear me from thee again!”
“O God, what bliss!” cried Anna, raising her streaming eyes to heaven. “What joy thou hast brought back to me!” she stammered once more, leaning on her husband and hiding her face in his bosom.
“And if the whole world were mine,” continued Apafi, “even then I should not be rich enough to requite thy devotion. I take God to witness, that if I could call a kingdom my own I would give it thee, and think it but a beggarly recompense.”
The joyful, loving pair, happy beyond all expression, were then left alone with their joy and happiness. Late into the night burned the taper in their window. How much, how endlessly much they had to say to one another!
III
A Prince in His Own Despite
A year had elapsed since Michael Apafi’s return home. There was a great hubbub in the house at Ebesfalva. One team of horses had scarcely had time to rest, when off went another at full gallop along the high-road;
