THE ICE-BLOCKED FLOOD.
This night was not for sleep. Idalia went from room to room with the
death-wound at her heart. She did not herself know what she was looking
for. She stopped before her mirror and gazed at herself for some time.
Her deep sorrow, her restless passion, had made her face still more
beautiful. The tears shining in her eyes lent a peculiar charm to her
features. "You lie. I am not beautiful! I am a demon--the demon that
pursues him!" The mirror then said to her, "You are hideous." Now she
knew what she must do. She sat down to write a letter.
"To his Lordship, Grazian Likovay.
Honored Lord: If you would know whose lover Father Peter really is, keep
watch to-night and when you hear the bells ring at midnight,--those
bells that you think are rung by spirits, since they have no cord--then,
instead of covering up your head in fear, arise and go with your
servants into the ghost-haunted chapel; there you shall learn which one
of us has cause to go begging for his lost honor. What I have said, I
have said--to-night after midnight. If you take warning, well and good;
if not, also good. It matters not to me whether you accept it, or
whether you do not. You will repent if you listen to me: you will repent
still more if you do not.
I remain, your respectful servant,
The widow of Franz Karponay."
She sealed the letter with her own crest. Meantime, it had been
gradually growing light. She sent for the Fool.
"Hirsko," she said, "Can one cross the Waag?"
"Hare and hounds can; but man could hardly do it."
"Why not?"
"Because during the night, the ice began to move, and if it has not
caught fast on the island, it must be going right merrily."
"Would you dare cross over with this letter?"
"If I had two heads, and could lose one there and leave the other here,
I do not say but that I would undertake it."
"Listen, Hirsko; I'll give you a new suit from head to foot, if you'll
take this letter through. If you return, you shall have wine enough for
a lifetime."
"And if I go to the bottom, I shall have water enough for a lifetime."
"Just try it. It's not so very dangerous. See this purse, it's full of
money; that too is yours, if you succeed."
The Fool shook his big head. He was not ready to accept her proposition
that he should "just try it, for he could float like a pumpkin."
"Now listen, Hirsko; I know that you have always been in love with me.
If you carry this letter over and come back, I'll be your wife."
At this the Fool gave a bound, and then began tugging with both hands at
his shoe strings.
"Tira li! You're not joking, just give me a kiss."
Idalia offered her lips to the monster. He hurried out of the room with
the letter, down to the Waag, striding along with a six-foot pole.
Idalia stationed herself at the balcony window and watched her
messenger. The ice had already begun to move on the Waag; single fields
of it floated down the centre of the stream, and giant cakes were heaped
one above another; only a Fool would undertake such a task. The
messenger's figure disappeared at times behind the barricades and then
reappeared: now and then, he broke in, and worked his way out again
with his pole. After an hour's struggle in the very face of Providence,
he reached the other shore.
"He's well over," said Idalia, and left the window. For Hirsko it was
hardly well; for Lord Grazian, when he had read the letter, in his first
outburst of anger, had him bound and scourged to the full value of a
woman's kiss. But the arrow had not missed its mark; it clung fast by
the barb to his heart.--
Now Idalia can go to breakfast. Father Peter was already there; his face
showed no change.
"I did not find the boy in his bed this morning," he said
good-naturedly.
"No, naturally not," she said, with a suppressed laugh. "After you had
laid him down, put him to sleep, and closed the door between the two
rooms, he awoke, and becoming frightened to find himself alone, ran to
me, and he is asleep still."
Father Peter made an effort to appear calm. The lady continued pertly:
"Shall I guess why you closed the door between the two rooms? You found
in your room a new suit of clothes, and did not wish the child to see
you try them on."
There was a whirring sound in Father Peter's head. It was dangerous to
say that he had not done so, for perhaps the lady would send for the
garments and see that there were traces of mud on the boots. He had to
answer the question with a smile. "Yes, you are right."
"Well, how do they fit?"
"That's for another to say."
"And when shall she say it?"
"When I answer your late questions."
"And when shall I get that answer?"
"To-morrow."
The lady clapped her hands with a laugh. "Ha, ha! To-morrow. So you
won't keep me waiting a week. Not until next Sunday? To-morrow I shall
learn whether you are Father Peter or Tihamer Csorbai! To-morrow, even
to-morrow!"
And with that she jumped up and danced the cushion dance, singing
enchantingly as she danced. Then she threw the cap from her head at the
feet of the man, and knelt on her cap, as on a cushion.
If Tihamer Csorbai had entered into the joke and set free with a kiss
the woman on her knees before him, then would she have plunged a
poisoned dagger into his heart, and the other woman, at least, would
have been saved. But nothing of the kind entered into the knight's
thoughts. The woman rose without a kiss, and danced and danced, until
she danced herself out of the room. No expression on her face betrayed
what was raging in her soul. She went to her room to waken her boy. She
was tenderness itself. Young Cupid complained of the frightful dreams he
had had in the night. He saw first Father Peter and then his mother push
Saint Nepomeck aside and follow each other down to hell.
"You little goose, you ate too much plum-cake last evening."
"But I did not dream this, I saw it with my own eyes. I was in Father
Peter's room."
"Oh, you darling, you were with me all night long. I could not cover you
up often enough, you kicked about so."
"Where's my little silver whistle?"
"Your little silver whistle! Dear soul, you left that in the land of
dreams."
"I am still cold. I am all of a tremble."
"You are feverish, sweetheart; stay in bed to-day, and I'll bring your
playthings to you, and make you a nice tea that will make you well
again."