"Don't name him!" cried Rety, violently. "Would to G.o.d I had never heard his name!"

"You are indeed far gone," sighed Vandory. "To think that, instead of repenting, you should hate the man whose pardon you ought to implore!"

"Implore his pardon? his?" cried Rety. "No! he is the spoiler, the destroyer! Is it not he who caused my only son to leave my house, cursing fate which made him son to _me_? Is it not he who robs me of the affections of the last person that loved me? Tell me of one of my sufferings which may not be traced to him!"

"And who is the cause of all this?"

The sheriff was silent.

"Whose fault is it," continued Vandory, with great earnestness, "that the bonds of friendship which once united you are now torn asunder? Who was the persecutor? who the destroyer?"

The sheriff would have spoken, but Vandory proceeded:--

"Tengelyi is in prison. He is locked up with murderers and thieves; and you, the sheriff of the county, use your power and influence only to wreak your vengeance upon him, and to add to his sufferings. Who, I ask, is the injured party?"

"I am not the cause of the notary's sufferings," said the sheriff, pettishly. "I am convinced of his innocence; but I cannot stay the arm of justice, even though it strike in a wrong direction."

"Samuel!" replied the curate, sadly, "that excuse will exculpate you in the eyes of man; but how will you stand with it before G.o.d, when He calls you to account for Tengelyi's sufferings?"

"I've done all I could do!" retorted Rety. "I offered to bail him. I implored Skinner, and I instructed Kenihazy, to treat the notary with the greatest mildness. Can you, in reason, ask me to do more?"

"I, as your brother, can indeed ask you to do more! I sacrificed everything to you----"

The sheriff looked confused and ashamed.

"Fear nothing," said the curate, with a sneer (the first he ever was guilty of): "n.o.body can hear my words. You need not be ashamed to be reminded of what, it seems, you have forgotten; namely, that it is your brother who speaks to you."

Rety made an unsuccessful attempt to speak; but Vandory continued:--

"Yes; I am your brother. The papers by which I could have proved my birth are lost. A court of justice might, perhaps, refuse to hear me, if I were to claim my name and property; but you know the truth of what I say, and you cannot deny that I treated you as a brother ought to do."

"My grat.i.tude----" muttered Rety.

"Where is it? Where is the brotherly affection which was to indemnify me for the loss of wealth; that is to say, of power and influence to do good? This is the fulfilment of your voluntary promise never to refuse any request of mine! I confided in those promises; for I was convinced that I should never abuse my power. We were happy as it was; and I was satisfied with my position, which gave me an opportunity to improve the condition of the peasantry. Even our former intimacy with Tengelyi was on the point of being restored. He was willing to forgive and to forget.

Your children were a new bond of union between you. Whose fault was it that those happy days are gone? I will not accuse you; but I will ask you, when were you happier,--then, or now? You sigh? Oh, Samuel! why did you not listen to the still small voice within you, which protested against the first step on that fatal path? I will not talk of the heartlessness with which you treated Tengelyi. Akosh loved Vilma. You knew it was my dearest wish that these children should not be separated; but your pride revolted at the thought that your son should marry the daughter of a notary; and Tengelyi, the friend of your youth, was ordered to leave your house!"

"I knew nothing of my wife's doings!" cried the sheriff. "I would never have consented to her treating the notary as she did."

"Be it so!" continued Vandory, warmly, and even pa.s.sionately. "I will not argue with you whether that a.s.sertion agrees with what you did afterwards. As the world goes, a father has a right to dictate to his children; I will not quarrel with you because you abused that right. But the abstraction of my doc.u.ments----"

The sheriff started up. "All is lost!" cried he. "My own brother condemns me as a villain!"

"G.o.d sees my heart!" replied Vandory. "When the first attempt at a robbery was made in my house, I would have spurned such a suspicion. I made a voluntary resignation of my birthright. How, then, could I suspect that any one should desire to rob me of the doc.u.ments by which I could prove my rights? That I had no suspicion against you, is shown by my informing you and your wife of my intention to commit those papers to Tengelyi's keeping. But when the robber followed them even to my friend's house; when Viola accused the attorney and your wife as guilty of the theft; when I considered that no one besides you could take an interest in those papers----"

Vandory stopped before he p.r.o.nounced his conclusion. The sheriff covered his face with his hands.

"I am not naturally p.r.o.ne to suspect any one," continued the curate; "and to suspect you, of all men, gives me unspeakable grief. If you can explain it, if you can exculpate yourself,--I will thank G.o.d, and ask your forgiveness, even on my knees!"

Rety rose from his chair. His heart was full, to overflowing. Not to speak was death to him. So he told his brother the share which his wife had taken in the robbery, and of her having informed him of it after the deed was done. "You may despise me," continued he; "you may hate me; but I could not, I cannot, act otherwise than I did. My evil genius induced me to marry that beldame. I was blinded by her family, her beauty, and by the praises of people who called her the queen of the county. I knew that she married me for my fortune; and I never mentioned your existence to her. Afterwards, I waited for a good opportunity to break the matter to her; until circ.u.mstances forced me to an explanation. She discovered my son's attachment to Vilma, and insisted on my sending Tengelyi, or, rather, Vilma, out of the house. As for me, I admit that I would have liked it better if Akosh had chosen another woman for his wife; but, partly for your sake, and partly because I hoped that he would change his mind, I refused to obey Lady Rety's commands. She acted for herself; and, when I reproached her, she sneered at me for being in fear of a curate and a poor notary. It was then I told her of your real position, and of the power you had of depriving me of one half of my estates. The wretched woman would not be dependent on your generosity: she availed herself of the attorney's help to deprive you of the papers by which you could prove your claims."

"My poor Samuel!" cried Vandory.

"Oh, my brother!" continued the sheriff; "neither you nor any one else can conceive the agony of my heart! My children turn away from me; my reputation is gone; and you yourself consider me as the partisan of robbers and thieves!"

Vandory would have spoken; but the sheriff continued, violently:--

"Don't speak! don't try to comfort me! I _am_ the accomplice of robbers; and my very position compels me to hush down and cloak this villanous business!"

"The bonds which unite you to your wife are sacred," said the curate.

"You are not allowed to abandon her to her fate; and, fallen though she is, it is your duty to defend her. But you must not sin for her. You may, indeed, you ought to, sacrifice yourself for her sake; but it is sinful to endanger the life of a guiltless man merely to shield that guilty woman from the punishment she so richly deserves!"

"I understand you," replied the sheriff; "nor would I hesitate for one moment, if I could save Tengelyi by sacrificing my wife. I hate her! But what is the use of accusing her, and of dishonouring the name of my children? The more clearly it is proved that the attorney robbed Tengelyi of his papers, and that my wife was accessory to the act, the more convincing will be the proof of his seeming guilt."

Vandory acknowledged the justness of this view of the case. He admitted that the sheriff was unable to effect Tengelyi's liberation; and he therefore entreated him to protect the notary against the petty persecutions of his enemies. The sheriff was amazed when Vandory informed him of the manner in which the people at Dustbury had thought proper to execute his orders respecting Tengelyi. He promised to go to Dustbury early the next morning, and to provide for the prisoner's comforts.

"Do, Samuel," said Vandory; "do your best for poor Tengelyi, and leave it to G.o.d to do the rest."

The sheriff sighed.

"Be of good cheer!" continued the curate: "let us hope for better days."

"Brother!" said Rety, sadly; "the man whose conscience accuses him, knows neither hope nor comfort."

CHAP. VI.

A few days after Tengelyi's incarceration, Mrs. Ershebet removed to Dustbury, where she hired a small house. The wretched woman was a prey to the deepest misery. She was proud of her husband. She was accustomed to hear his praises wherever she went. It was generally admitted that Tengelyi was the most honest and upright man in the county; and that man, the pride of her heart, and her idol, was in gaol! He was accused of a crime: the dangers which threatened him made her shudder. Ershebet was a strong-minded woman. She stood by Tengelyi in all the reverses and vicissitudes of his life. But the last blow was more than she could bear. Her distress made her careless of everything; even her daughter's society and conversation failed to cheer her, and her former friends were convinced that she could not survive Tengelyi's sentence.

Vilma, on the other hand, rose with the storm. She was convinced of her father's innocence, and firm in her hopes of better days. Her sorrow was of the keenest, but it was tempered by her conviction that it was her duty to cheer her mother, and by her love for Akosh, whose devotion kept pace with the unfortunate events which threatened for ever to destroy the honour and prosperity of the notary's family. The sheriff was now no longer opposed to the wishes of his son; indeed, there was nothing to prevent the perfect happiness of the young couple, except their anxiety concerning Tengelyi's fate.

The notary himself bore the blows of misfortune with his usual st.u.r.dy perseverance, but, we regret to say, with more than his usual bitterness. Neither Volgyeshy's advice, nor the entreaties of Akosh and Vandory, could induce him to see the sheriff. He refused to avail himself even of the legal remedies which were at his command, unless they agreed with his ideas of what the law ought to be; and Volgyeshy's complaints that his conduct was likely to injure the defence, he met with dogged indifference.

"I am innocent!" was his usual plea on such occasions. "My innocence will sooner or later come to light; and although I am forced to prove that I am not guilty, I will at least avoid guilty means in doing so."

This was the state of affairs during winter; nor was it changed in the beginning of spring. The prisoner pa.s.sed that time surrounded by all the comforts, and even luxuries, which the ingenuity of the sheriff could devise, and which the nature of a gaol would admit of. His little room was comfortably furnished; he was not without society, and among those who visited him, no one was more a.s.siduous or more eager to effect a formal reconciliation between the notary and the sheriff, than Volgyeshy the advocate. It is in the midst of one of their discussions on the manner and time of the defence, that we find them on a fine day in March.

"Consider, my friend," said Volgyeshy; "there can be no humiliation in your speaking a few kind words to the sheriff: nor is there any meanness in writing one or two simple lines to the lord-lieutenant, entreating him to adjourn your case."

"But I tell you it is a humiliation!" retorted the notary. "I will not condescend to beg for mercy. I am innocent. If they condemn me, it is their affair, not mine!"

"But you need not beg for mercy," replied the advocate, with a sigh.

"All I desire is, that you should treat people with kindness and civility; that you should not insult them when they show you sympathy, as you did the other day when Kriver and the attorney-general called on you."

"And what is the use of this sympathy? Do these people think me guiltless? No! they came because the lord-lieutenant mentioned my name with kindness? Am I to herd with beings like these?"

"My dear sir!" entreated the advocate, "consider the nature of the charge; pray consider the consequences of your conduct!"