Timar remained on the island till frost covered the green gra.s.s--till the leaves fell, and the nightingales and thrushes were silent. Then he made up his mind to return to the world, the world of reality; and he left Noemi behind, alone with her little child on the ownerless island.

"But I shall come back this winter"--and with those words he left her.

Noemi did not know what those words betokened at Michael's home. Round the island the Danube was never entirely frozen in the severest winter; the gla.s.s never fell much below freezing-point; ivy and laurels could stand the cold with ease. But Michael had severe weather for his journey. On the upper Danube snow had already fallen, and he took a whole week to reach Komorn. He had to wait a whole day before he could cross the river--there was so much ice that it was unsafe to launch a boat. Once he had ventured alone in a small boat across the river in flood; but then Noemi was waiting for him. Now he was going to Timea--to get a divorce from her.

His decision was taken--they must have a divorce. Noemi could not live alone on that desert island. The woman must have justice in return for her fidelity and love: accursed would he be who could find it in his heart to abandon her who had given herself to him body and soul. And then, too, Timea would be happy.

That thought gnawed him--that Timea would be happy. If only he could hate her, if he had a single accusation to bring against her, so as to put her away as one he could despise and forget!

He had to leave his carriage at Uj-Szony, for wheels could not yet pa.s.s the ice, so he arrived on foot at home. When he went in, it seemed to him as if Timea were afraid of him; as if the hand she gave him trembled, and her voice too, when she greeted him. This time she did not offer him her white cheek to be kissed.

Timar hastened to his room, on pretense of laying aside his wraps. If only there was some reason for this embarra.s.sment! And another sign had not escaped him--Athalie's expression. In her eyes shone the fire of a diabolical triumph, the light of a malicious joy. How if Athalie knew something?

At table he met the two women again. They all three sat silently together, watching each other. Timea only said to Michael, "This time you have stayed away very long."

Timar would not say, "I shall soon leave you altogether," but he thought it. He had to consult his lawyer first as to a possible ground for a separation. It was impossible to think of one. Only "unconquerable mutual aversion" could be put forward.

But would the wife consent? All depended on her. Timar pondered this question all the afternoon, and told the servants not to tell any one of his return, as he could not see visitors.

Toward evening some one opened the door. Athalie stood before him, with the same spiteful satisfaction shining from her eyes, the same triumphant smile playing round her lips. Michael drew back before her repellent glance.

"What brings you here, Athalie?" he asked, with confusion.

"Well, Herr von Levetinczy, what do you think? Do you not want to know anything from me?"

"What?" he whispered eagerly, shutting the door, and staring at Athalie with wide-opened eyes.

"What do you want to know?" said the beautiful woman, still smiling.

"Indeed that is hard to guess. I have been in your house these six years; every year I have seen you return home, and every year with a different expression on your face. At first tormenting jealousy, then easy good-humor, afterward a.s.sumed tranquillity, and absorption in business. I studied all these phases. Last year I thought the tragedy was over--you looked like a man who is ready for the grave. But you may be sure that on all this round world there is no one who prays for your life as I do."

Michael frowned, and possibly Athalie understood him.

"No, sir," she repeated, pa.s.sionately; "for if there is anyone in the world who loves you, they can not possibly wish that you may live long as heartily as I do. Now I see the same look on your face as last year--that is the true one: you would like to hear about Timea?"

"Do you know anything?" asked Timar, eagerly, putting his back against the door as if to keep Athalie a prisoner.

She laughed scornfully; not she but Michael was the prisoner.

"I know much--all," she replied; "enough to bring us all to perdition.

Myself and the other, and you too."

Michael's blood froze in his veins. "Tell me all."

"That is what I came for. But listen quietly to the end, that I may tell you things which lead to madness, if not death."

"One word first, is Timea unfaithful?"

"She is, and you will be absolutely convinced of it."

In Timar's heart a n.o.bler feeling arose to protest against this suspicion. "Take care what you say!"

"Your saintly picture, then, came down out of its altar-frame to listen to a report which said that the n.o.ble major had fought on her account with some strange officer, and wounded him so badly that his own sword broke in two over the head of his adversary. The picture heard this rumor. Frau Sophie told her, and the eyes of the saintly image shed tears. Perhaps you are a heretic, and do not believe in miraculous tears. But it is true; and Frau Sophie told the n.o.ble major next day.

Frau Sophie loves to be a go-between; she loves flattery and intrigue.

The reported tears had the result that Frau Sophie brought back a box and a letter from the major. In the box were the half-broken blade and the handle of the sword with which the major had fought. It was a souvenir."

"Well, there is nothing wrong in that," said Michael, with affected calm.

"Ah, yes, but the letter!"

"Did you read it?"

"No; but I know what it contained."

"How can you know that?"

"Because the saint replied, and Frau Sophie was the messenger."

"Go on," said Timar.

"Yes, for the story is not nearly finished. The letter was not a scented pink note; it was written on your own desk, sealed with your own seal, and its contents might have been to repulse the major's advances forever and ever. But that was not what it said."

"Who knows?"

"Frau Sophie and I, and you will be a third directly. How unexpectedly you returned to-day!--how can people come at such an inconvenient time?

The Danube is full of ice, the ice-flakes lie in heaps, and no living creature can cross. One would think that on such a day the town would be so safely shut off that even a jealous husband, if he were outside, could not get in. How could you come to-day?"

"Do not torture me, Athalie."

"Did you not notice the confusion on your picture's face when surprised by your arrival? Did not her hand tremble in yours? You managed your arrival so badly; Frau Sophie had to go out again to the smart major with the short message--'It can not be to-day.'"

Timar's face was disfigured with rage. Then he sunk back in his chair and said, "I don't believe you."

"You need not do so," said Athalie, with a shrug. "I will only advise you to trust your own eyes. It can not be to-day, because you have come home; but it might be to-morrow. Suppose you went away? You often go in winter to the Platten See, when it is frozen and they begin to fish under the ice. It is capital sport. You might say to-morrow, 'While this cold lasts, I will be off to Fured to see how the _fogasch_ get on,' and then you might shut yourself up in your other house here, and wait till some one taps at your window and says 'Now.' Then you would come back here."

"And I should do that?" exclaimed Timar, shuddering.

Athalie looked him up and down contemptuously. "You are a coward!" and with that she turned to go.

But Michael sprung after her and seized her by the arm.

"Stop! I will take your advice and do what you tell me."

"Then listen to me," said Athalie, and pressed so close to his face that he felt her burning breath.

"When Herr Brazovics built this house, the room in which Timea sleeps was the parlor. Who were his usual guests? Business people, boon companions, merchants, dealers. This room has a hiding-place in the wall above the staircase, where the steps turn, and the inner side makes an angle. Into this hole in the wall it is possible to gain access from outside. There is a closet where old rubbish is kept, which is seldom opened. But even if it stood open it would hardly occur to any one to try the screws of the ventilator one after another. The center screw on the right-hand side is movable. But even if any one drew it out it would tell nothing--it is only a simple peg. But whoever is in possession of a peculiar key, which can be inserted in place of the peg, only requires to press the top of the key, from which wards instantly appear, and by a single turn of the key the cupboard is noiselessly pushed aside. From thence one can enter the hiding-place, which receives light and air from a slit in the roof. This hollow in the wall goes as far as Timea's bedroom, where in former times Herr Brazovics' guests used to pa.s.s the night. The concealed pa.s.sage ends in a gla.s.s door which is hidden from the room by a picture. This picture is a mother-of-pearl mosaic representing St. George and the dragon, and appears to be a votive image built into the wall. It has often been proposed to take the picture away, but Timea never would allow it. One of the pieces of mosaic can be slipped aside, and through the blank s.p.a.ce everything that pa.s.ses in the room can be seen and heard."

"What did your father want with such a hiding-place?"

"I think it had to do with his business. He had many affairs with contractors and officials. There was good living to be had at his house, and when he had got his visitors into a good temper, he left them to themselves, slipped into the secret room and listened from thence to their conversation. In this way he obtained much important business information, from which he derived considerable advantage. Once when he had himself taken rather too much at table, he sent me to listen in the pa.s.sage, and in this way I learned the secret. The key is in my possession. When all Herr Brazovics' property was seized by judicial decree, I could, if I had chosen, have conveyed all his valuables out of the house by this means. But I was too proud to steal."