"Not to ourselves perhaps, but there are other creatures about us, aunt; for instance, you have cats and so have we"--

"Only that ours are handsomer."

"Perfectly true. Well, these cats frequently pay visits--yours to ours, and ours to yours"--

"I know that well enough, for your cats gnaw all the sausages in our attics; but ours don't need to go to you, for they have enough to eat at home. Go, Estike," continued the hag, as the little girl re-entered, "and see if the young peac.o.c.ks have been fed."

("A time will come, you old witch, when I shall crack nuts with your bones," thought I, but did not say it.) "Well, dear aunt, last night, as I was saying, these innocent creatures had a.s.sembled, and were singing away together--it was quite delightful to hear them--when some cruel and treacherous hand knocked out the brains of the handsomest among them."

"Served you right! what business had the cat to be out?"

"It was not our cat that was killed, but yours, dear aunt," I replied, untying the handkerchief, and producing the remains of her favourite.

I shall never forget the look of rage, despair, and horror, which I was doomed to encounter at that moment, and which has often haunted me since, even in my dreams. I pinched myself at last, to a.s.sure myself that I had not been turned to stone.

"_My_ cat!" she shrieked, while her eyes glared, and her lips foamed, and, tearing it out of my hands, she began kissing and fondling it like an infant. "Cziczuskam! cziczuskam! look at me--look at me!" she cried, pulling its eyes open. At last she laid it on the table, and, throwing herself upon it, began to weep bitterly.

At that moment Esztike re-entered, and sat down before her little table. Taking advantage of Mistress Debora's emotion, I slipped up to her--to Esztike, not to Mrs. Debora--and, pressing her small white hand in mine, asked, in a tremulous voice, "You are not angry with me, dearest Esztike, are you?"

"Why should I be angry?" said the artless little girl, casting down her eyes, and drawing her hand out of mine.

It was a foolish question, I allow; but when one is in love, wise questions do not always present themselves.

I had scarcely time to look at my little violet, before Mistress Debora again grumbled out, "Esztike, go and see if your father is coming!"

Tartar take the old vampire! I thought she was bewailing her cat. Once more alone with her, however, I endeavoured to console her, spoke of the weather, of the maize crop, of the vines--all in vain. At last she started up--

"Wait, you worthless scamp!" she cried; "whoever you are, who murdered this little innocent creature--I'll find you out, and revenge it on your children's children--(Merciful Heaven! she means to live three generations longer!) I will place the affair before the county, and begin a suit immediately, a _violentialis, infamisationalis_ suit. You shall be avenged, my cruelly murdered, innocent, speckled cat, and I will make you a fearful example to generations still unborn!"

"You are quite right, my dear aunt, your determination is excellent; he deserves the utmost rigour of the law, and I promise you I shall be the first to look out for him."

"Will you really promise that?" exclaimed Mistress Debora; and then followed what I had dreaded might be the consequence of my generous speech. She actually seized and embraced me!

"My dear nephew, you were always a good lad; your father was a worthy man--I love all your family. Find out the murderer of my cat, and I will bless you for it, even after your death!"

"I would rather bless _you_ under those circ.u.mstances," I thought, but did not say it; and, promising to do all in my power to hasten the _criminalis_ inquisition, she proceeded to enumerate her favourite's merits--how he could purr, how he would leap on the table, and drink coffee out of a saucer, how sagacious, and how knowing he was; and then followed anecdotes ill.u.s.trative of the virtues of her poor lost cat, to all of which I listened with unheard-of patience.

I at length suggested the prudence of removing the object of her emotion, and, after a most affecting scene, she consigned the precious relics to my arms, to be buried under her window, and I took leave, promising to return as soon as possible with some information relative to the murderer.

I then buried the cat, and raised a monument of sods above its grave, by which means I thoroughly ingratiated myself in Mistress Debora's favour.

Meanwhile, she seemed to have forgotten that she had sent Esztike out to watch for her father; and when, with a beating heart, I hurried to the gate, I found my little charmer still there.

"For whom are you waiting so long?" I asked, by way of conversation.

"For my dear father," she replied, twisting the little ta.s.sel of her ap.r.o.n.

"Poor little Esztike! how much you have to suffer from that old Mrs.

Debora!"

She did not speak, but the large tears filled her eyes.

It was then I first remarked how beautiful black eyes look when they weep: tears do not become blue eyes, I like _them_ best when they smile.

"Ah, Esztike! it should not be thus if--but I won't let you be annoyed if I can help it, that I won't."

She did not answer. I confess I should not have liked if she had been able to answer every word I said.

"n.o.body loves me," I continued, "in the wide world: my life is very lonely and sad; but surely Heaven will smile upon us yet."

My little dove looked as if she wished to go, yet fain would stay; but as I behaved discreetly, she remained. A cold wind began to blow, and she had only a slight silk handkerchief round her neck.

"Why don't you put on a warmer handkerchief?" I asked. "You might catch cold and die."

"It would be no great pity," said the poor child, sadly; "I would go to a good place, I hope, and n.o.body would miss me."

"Oh! do not say that, unless you wish to break my heart (here my voice was somewhat choked)! You must live a long time yet, dearest Esztike; for if you die, I shall soon know how deep the Danube runs!"

And then I hastened away; and when I reached home, I found that my cheeks were wet, and that I was sobbing like a child. Ay, the heart of man makes him a strange animal!

For some time I had no occasion to fear my uncle's dogs, knowing that Mistress Debora would not set them at me; but I generally watched till the good man went out to wage war on the hares, and then I hastened to our neighbour's with all the information I had collected as to the murderer of the cat--describing, from his cap to his slippers, a being very unlike myself, and whose supposed existence nearly turned Mistress Debora's head.

But this could not continue very long; and my aunt at last began to forget her pet's untimely end, and no longer received her dear nephew so graciously as before.

After a lapse of some days, I called on pretext of speaking to my uncle (I had watched till I had seen him go out, with gun and dogs); and after poignant regrets at not finding him at home, I asked Mistress Debora if she had heard what had happened in the village. As nothing had happened, she naturally had not heard, and therefore was the more curious to know; and I accordingly proceeded to repeat all the gossip I had collected from some old gazettes with as much eloquence as I could--and (Heaven forgive me!) I fear, as much invention--till the old lady was ready to drop off her seat at my histories. She would listen for hours; and though I dared not speak to Esztike, we had frequent opportunities of exchanging sighs, and our eyes carried on most interesting dialogues together.

On one pretext or other I was honourably received for some time, and even allowed to bring Esztike books, which I had borrowed from a cousin in the village. True, they were only German books; but what could I do? Had I brought such unholy things into the house in the Hungarian language, I should have been banished from it for ever; for, if I remember rightly, they were romances and love tales, by Wieland and Kotzebue. But they pa.s.sed for good books; and Mistress Debora (the worthy soul knew no other language than Magyar) would frequently insist on my translating the salutary effusions, which of course I did in as touching a style as possible, while the tears ran down the furrows in her cheeks.

One day, after taking leave (I generally had an instinctive feeling as to the time when my uncle would return), I was in the act of opening the house door, when it was pushed towards me, and the next instant my n.o.ble and honourable uncle, Gergely Sonkolyi, with pipe and bra.s.s-headed cane, stood before me.

How to escape was my first impulse; but seeing this was impossible, my next was to put a brave face on the matter.

"Well, nephew," said my uncle, twisting his moustache; "red, stammering, out of breath--eh? So you visit here, do you?"

What could I answer? I was not fool enough to say I had come to visit Esztike; and should I say I was visiting Mistress Debora--she may be his wife, I thought, and then he will shoot me through the head!

"I know your errand," continued my uncle, pertinaciously holding the handle of the door. "Storms and thunder! don't think to put your fingers in my eyes! Ten thousand fiery devils! if ever you dare to come within my door again, I swear by the woods of Karpath that I will make leather belts of your skin!"

"Thank you, uncle," I replied, delighted to get off so easily, as, once more commending me to the devil, he entered, and shut the door behind him; while I heard his allegorical phrases--or, as an impartial world would call them, his oaths--echoing wrathfully through the house.

What was to be done? I found myself just where I had been before the death of the cat.

I now considered it prudent to avoid the dogs.

From this day forward, I had very seldom an opportunity of seeing Esztike, except across our gardens; and even then, I exposed myself to the danger of being shot through the head, if my uncle should see me.

On one occasion Esztike gave me to understand by signs, that she dared not approach nearer. I pointed to the attic windows, which my little sweetheart understood at once; and from that day we frequently carried on a pantomimic conversation from our attics. I often laugh when I think how much we contrived to say, and how quickly we comprehended each other's gestures.