Days and days passed since the departure of Dame Béldi, and there were no news of her. Every day the spirits of the girl declined, every evening she parted more and more sadly with Feriz, and every morning he found it more and more difficult to comfort her. And now with great consternation the youth began to perceive that the girl was very pale, the colour of life began to fade from her round, rosy cheeks, and there was something new in the brightness of her eyes—it was no earthly light there which made him tremble as he gazed upon her. The youth durst not ask her: “What is the matter?” But the girl said to him:
“Oh, Feriz! I am dying here; I shall never see your smiling skies.”
“I would rather see the sky black than thee dead.”
“The sky will smile again, but I never shall. I feel something within me which makes my heart’s blood flow languidly, and at night I see my dead kinsfolk, and walk with them in unknown regions which I never saw before, and which appear before me so vividly that I could describe every house and every bush by itself.”
“That signifies that thou wilt visit unknown regions with me.”
“Oh, Feriz, I no longer feel any pleasure in those lands of yours, nor am I glad when I think of your palms, and as often as I see you darkness descends upon my soul, for I feel that I am going to leave you.”
“Speak not so, joy of my existence. Grieve not God with thy words, for God is afflicted when the innocent complain.”
“I am not complaining. I go from a bad into a good world, and there I shall see you in my dreams.”
“But if this bad world should become better, and you lived happily in it?”
Aranka sadly shook her pretty, angelic head.
“That it is not necessary for this world to grow better you can see from the fact that the good must die while the wicked live a long time. God seeks out those that love Him, and takes them unto Himself, for He will not let them suffer long.”
Feriz shuddered. What could have put these solemn, melancholy thoughts into the heart of this girl, this child? It was the approach of Death, the worm-bitten fruit ripens more quickly than the rest. Slow, creeping Death had seized upon the childish mind and made it speak like the aged—and sad it was to listen to its words.
“Cheer up,” said Feriz, with an effort, skimming with his lips the girl’s white hand which she thrust out to him through the bars. “Thy mother will soon be here; thy father will sit on the throne of the Prince as he deserves; thou wilt be a Princess, and I will strive and struggle till I am high enough to sue for thee, and then I will lay my glory and renown at thy feet, and thou shalt be my bride, my queen, my guardian angel.”
The girl shook her head sorrowfully.
“And we will walk along by the banks of the quiet streams in those ancient lands where not craft but valour rules, where the wise are only learned in the courses of the stars and the healing virtues of the plants, not in the science of the rise and fall of kingdoms. There from the window of my breeze-blown kiosk, which is built on the slopes of Lebanon, thou wilt view the whole region round about. Above, the shepherds kindle their fires in the blackness of the cedar forests; below, the mountain stream runs murmuring along, and all round about us the nightingale is singing, and what he singeth is the happiness of love. In the far distance thou seest the mirror of the great sea, and the white-sailed pleasure boat rocks to and fro on the transparent becalmed billows, and the moon looks down upon the limitless mirror, and a fair maiden sits in the pleasure-boat, and at her feet lies a youth, and both of them are silent, only a throbbing heart is speaking, and it speaks of the happiness of love.”
A couple of tears dropped from the eyes of the girl—the future was so seductive—and that picture, that fair country, she did not seem to be regarding them from the earth, it seemed to her as if she was looking down upon them from the sky and regretting that she was forced to leave—the beautiful world.
Aranka adored her father. The man who was respected for his virtues by a whole kingdom was the highest ideal of his child. When Feriz began to speak of him, the girl’s face brightened, and at the recital of his heroic deeds the tears dried up in her flashing eyes; and when the youth told her how the great patriot would return, glorious and powerful, supported by the mightiest of monarchs, and how he would throw open the prison doors of his children and be parted from them no more, then a smile would gradually transfigure the girl’s face, and she would feel happy. And then she would steal apart into her own dungeon, and kneel down before her bed, and pray ardently that she might see her father soon, very soon.
And she was to see him before very long.
Paul Béldi’s body was now six feet deep in the ground, and his soul a star farther off in the sky—to see him one must go to him.
Paler and paler she became every day, her waking moments were scarcely different from her dreams, and her dreams from her waking moments. The provost-marshal now had compassion on the withered flower, and allowed it on the sunny afternoons to walk about on
