But there was nothing of the coquette about her; she made no advances whatever.

The sound of the dinner-gong here breaking off their talk, his hostess accompanied Ráby back to the house, where the company were impatiently awaiting them. The dinner was already on the table.

The Fräulein presented Ráby to the other guests who all greeted him warmly.

The meal threatened to be interminable, as course succeeded course, till at last someone threw out a hint to the effect that a little exercise would be good for the diners, who had a game of skittles awaiting them.

"Skittles," indeed, was as it were the word of dismissal, and the suggestion nearly spoiled the proposal made by another guest that after dinner they should have a song from Fräulein Fruzsinka on the clavichord.

But the skittle players were in the majority though there was a keen opposition.

Finally matters were compromised by settling that they should have their hostess' song first, and then the skittles. At first a few of the guests loitered round the clavichord, at which Fräulein Fruzsinka, with her really sweet voice, was commencing a ditty. But you could not well smoke there, so one by one they stole out into the garden where the skittles were already in full swing.

Meanwhile, Fräulein Fruzsinka remained at the clavichord alone with Mathias Ráby, who from his knowledge of music could turn over for her at the right moment.

The singer soon shut the music book, and rose impatiently from the instrument.

"What people these are!" she exclaimed with a little irritated gesture of her hands. "Not a lofty idea, not a noble aspiration among them, as far as one can judge. And that is our world!"

Ráby, who had the instincts of a courtier, sought to excuse his fellow guests.

"Their own official concerns fill their minds entirely."

"Their official concerns indeed! Yes, I should think so! Did you hear the anecdotes with which they regaled each other at table? Quite frankly, with the most shameless cynicism. Yet they were all true. Among such people as ours, ignorance, idleness and greed counter-balance one another. Not one of them knows his business: each neglects his duty. But see if there is anything to be got out of any official function, and everyone is ready to seize it for himself."

Ráby held a brief for the accused.

"With us, offices of that kind are ill-paid. The official's salary is scant; he has, too, a house and family to keep up."

Fruzsinka laughed aloud. "There is not a married man among all of them. They are all a penniless lot who come to pay their court to me. Each of them would marry me, were they not all afraid of me!"

"Afraid of the Fräulein? You must make a strange impression on them."

"Yes, think of it! Can you believe that anyone is frightened at me because I wear a fashionable gown, read novels, am clever at music, but indifferent to kitchen and cellar; thereat the wooer shudders. He says to himself, 'he cannot possibly tolerate that,' and takes himself off forthwith."

"On the contrary, dainty toilettes and culture bespeak wealth, and that alone should be one more spur for the suitors, surely."

"Oh certainly, if they were sure that my uncle, who is rich, were going to leave me his money. But that is a secret no one knows. There are two things my wooer cannot find out, whether my uncle really loves me, and whether I know how to flatter him well enough, so as not to forfeit his affection. And truly I do not quite know myself."

"And that surely is not difficult to decide. For your beautiful toilettes and good education witness sufficiently to his affection for you."

"Ah, as far as my education goes, I have only to thank the gracious Empress Maria Theresa, for I was educated at her Elizabeth Institute in Buda, and my education cost no one a heller. And as regards my dress, my uncle insists on my dressing well, in order to captivate each new-comer. If it is an aristocratic cavalier who appears on the scene, forthwith I must don my pearl-embroidered bodice and lace stomacher and the plumed hat, but if it be an ordinary townsman, I wear the provincial dress of the simple country girl. Yes, would you know everything at this, our first meeting? And, indeed, as it is the first, so will it be the last. But would you hear how that must be, come with me into my own sitting-room, for here someone will overhear us."

Ráby was already under the spell of the sorceress, and he followed her willingly into her boudoir.

"You are not the first, dear Ráby," pursued his hostess, "who has come into this town vowing vengeance on us, to demand that justice be done. I say 'us,' for as you see, I too am leagued with this confederacy. And each of such emissaries in turn have I seen withdraw after a time, his anger appeased. Now, once more, they hear that a man of iron has come to set his foot down with inexorable rigour; he distributes the vast bribe which has been offered him, among the poor, while to win him over, even the great coffer is ransacked, but in vain. Thereupon, the authorities bethink them of another treasure still, the prefect's niece. And they trick her out as a fashionable lady, and leave her alone with the incorruptible. You see I am quite frank! Do you not blush for me? I do for myself, I can assure you. Take my advice, and fly from this place!"

"But, Fräulein, all you tell me does but make me still more determined to pursue the purpose for which I came hither."

"I see you to-day for the first time; I know nothing of you but what I have heard from your opponents; but what I have heard of you only makes me take your side. You are no ordinary man. Go, I tell you, and save yourself; flee from this place!"

"I save myself?"

"Yes, indeed! You cannot imagine how evilly disposed to you are those among whom you find yourself. Indeed, they have threatened to take your life."

What does she mean? Will she scare him away from the field of his labours, so that intimidated by her words, he returns to Vienna? Or has she measured her man, and seen that he is to be best caught by seeking to divert him from his purpose? And does she know that for such a one, the most powerful enticement of all will be to seek to turn him from his goal?

Ráby responded to the signal that his hostess made him, to come closer; nay, he took the fan she held, and fanned her and himself with it.

"That is splendid; why it will make my stay here quite a romantic experience," he said.

"You will rue it, however, and expose yourself to a thousand dangers which you have not the power to withstand. I see you are confident of your strength. But if you had to fight with someone, would it not disquiet you to know your adversary was an excellent shot. Suppose the moment you entered the field, someone whispered to you: 'Be on your guard; your second is in league with your opponent, he has placed no bullets in your pistol.' Would you not, in such a case, refuse to fight?"

"But the case is quite unthinkable."

"So you deem it. But to prove to you, that I am not seeking, as your enemies would have me do, to try and entangle you in my net, I will tear asunder the snare already closing round you, and show you something which shall enlighten you once and for all."

She went to her writing-table and took out of a drawer a letter.

"Say, do you know this handwriting?"

"Very well, it is that of the district commissioner."

"The note was addressed to me, in order to awaken no suspicion. Please read it."

It was the letter which the district commissioner had written at the theatre.

As he read it, Ráby fairly crimsoned with wrath. He was thunderstruck to find that his official chief, who had promised to support his mission, should have a secret understanding with those whom he was pledged to punish. Whom should he trust, if this was the state of things?

"Now will you not fly?" said Fräulein Fruzsinka. Her words urged him to go, but her eyes held him back.

"No, indeed! now will I remain," cried Ráby impetuously, as he rose to go. And as if to prove that he had determined to do and dare all, he hastily seized her hand and raised it passionately to his lips.

And she did not withdraw hers, but vehemently returned its pressure, as if to say: "This is the man I have long been looking for!"

"Leave me now," she whispered; but her eyes seemed to say, "Come again, soon!"

Mathias Ráby knew now that fate had led him to a kindred soul at last!

CHAPTER XIV.

So it came about that one day Mathias Ráby sought out his uncle, Mr. Leányfalvy, with this request.

"I have come, my dear uncle, to remind you of your promise. I need a 'best man.'"

"A 'best man'? All right, my boy, I'm ready; let's have the horses put to."

"It won't be necessary; it is only at the other end of the city. It is to the prefecture I want to go."

"It's the Fruzsinka, then," exclaimed the old gentleman, and he began to scratch his head in deep perplexity. Finally, he blurted out, "Listen to me, my boy, take my advice and choose anyone else."

"Uncle, I forbid you to speak thus! She is my betrothed."

"I will not say anything against the woman of your choice. I will only say this: your father and mother were worthy God-fearing folk. If there had been twenty commandments to keep instead of ten, they would have observed them all scrupulously. And they loved each other so dearly, that when your father died, your mother followed him the very next day. And so it can be said to your own credit, that you are neither a murderer nor a robber. Therefore, I want to know how it is that, since neither you nor your parents have ever committed mortal sin, such a punishment should be destined for you, as marrying Fräulein Fruzsinka?"

"Uncle, I forbid you——"

"If you only knew the woman she is!"

"I know quite well, she herself has told me all."

"All, has she, what sort of an 'all' is it?"

Mathias Ráby shrugged his shoulders as one who does not understand grammatical subtleties. "Oh, with women, the world is an everyday matter."

"But these are not everyday matters."

"Well, I will hear no evil of her."

"May Heaven forgive me if I make a mistake! But what does it concern me after all? Yet I found for you a nice, well-brought up girl to whom the other one cannot hold a candle! What are the black gipsy eyes of the one compared to the innocent blue ones of the other? But if such a wife pleases you, there is nothing more to be said. Only you will have a wife and no mistake, I'll warrant you!"

"Now, dear uncle, I beg of you to come and accompany me in my wooing."

Mr. Leányfalvy began to see that he must play a part in this pantomime after all.

"I've no clothes to go in," he explained. "In these I could not enter such grand company."

"I will bring you a new coat from Pesth."

"It's no use, nephew. Among such grand folks a simple gentleman like me, who am a mere nobody, has no business. Take the district commissioner with you; he is a great man, and can write worshipful before his name."

"I don't want any great men. I'd rather have you!"

Now the postmaster came out with his true meaning.

"I don't want to be your 'best man!'" he said bluntly.

"You don't, and why not?"

"Because I am exceedingly angry, and I should quarrel with you. I am seriously vexed with you, not because you insist on marrying Fruzsinka—you can be angry with yourself for that—but because you are leaving that sweet, pretty, innocent child, to eat her heart out in disappointment. I do not want to have anything more to do with you; you are nothing to me. Now go, and take your grand friend with you!"

"Very well, I won't take anyone. I'll go alone and ask for her myself."

Thereupon, Ráby turned away and went. It would be indeed absurd that a man, in such a high position, who had been educated at the Theresianum, and was the trusted confidant of the Emperor himself, should let himself be dissuaded from his purpose by a simple unlearned rustic.

The contradiction only strengthened him in his determination.

And then—those glorious eyes!

Ráby was one of those men who, once having set themselves an end in view, pursue it unflinchingly. He went straight away to the prefect, stated plainly his errand, and asked for the hand of his niece.

The prefect, however, pushed his cap back a little off his brows, and demanded somewhat abruptly if his visitor understood Hungarian?

Ráby was a little disconcerted by the question.

"Yes, I can speak Hungarian," he answered shortly.

"But, my friend, to speak Hungarian and to understand it are two very different things, as we shall see directly. I ask you, what is it you want? Do you want to take my niece Fruzsinka as your wife, or do you wish to be the husband of my niece Fruzsinka?"

"Surely that is one and the same thing," said the suitor.

"Not a bit of it; they are quite distinct. Let's put it plainly. For instance, you elect to be my niece's husband. In this case you come and live here at the prefecture, and you get thrown in as a marriage settlement, a coach and four, a coachman and lackey, and will have in fact all the money you need. If you are tired of the chancery work in Vienna, we can get you elected administrator of Visegrád, which post happens to be vacant. You only need walk into it, or if you would prefer to do so, you can easily keep your appointment at Court, and a deputy will look after the Visegrád affairs for you, perhaps better than you could yourself. All you have to do is to spend the income, if you come to live here. This is one alternative. The other is that you take my niece as your wife, and make your own little home for her, and the rest is your concern, not mine. Now I have spoken plainly, do you understand me?"

"Perfectly, and I am also ready with my answer. I ask for no prefecture, no coach and four, no administratorship; I only ask for Fräulein Fruzsinka, whom I love; I ask for the lady, not for the property."

"Well, go and have a talk with her. If she is agreeable to the proposal, I won't raise any objection."

Thereupon, he sent the wooer to Fräulein Fruzsinka, who had previously suggested to Ráby that he should come on this particular day and formally propose for her hand.

"You come without a 'best man,'" said Fruzsinka, as Ráby entered. "You have found no one who would undertake the office, that is it. Each of the friends you asked refused, and tried to set you against me?"

"I assure you, Fräulein, that there is no man living from whom I would listen to the slightest word against you, not even my own father. I will tell you truthfully how the matter stands. I have one good old friend in this world whom you know well, my uncle Leányfalvy. I begged him to bear me company, but he refused solely, however, on this ground, that he had already chosen a bride for me, a playmate of my childhood, and had so set his heart on my having her, that he is angered at my making another choice."

"And why not marry the playmate of your childhood?"

"That too will I tell you, and be as candid with you as you were with me. This girl is a dear, gentle, little creature, whose life it were a shame to link with my own stormy career. Why, I should have to transform myself to marry her. If I were a man who simply swims with the stream, and troubles not as to what passes outside his own house, then could I woo such a bride indeed. But I am possessed by a demon of unrest that will let me have no peace; the misery of the people is constantly before me, urging me unceasingly to champion their cause against their oppressors. Nothing shall stop my mouth from pleading their rights. My life will be a perpetual struggle, I see that clearly. And can I fetter to such a destiny, a mere child whose only strength is her inexhaustible patience and gentleness? Every moment would it not be a torment to me, that each woe I drew down upon my head would fall likewise upon that of a guiltless and innocent being with a hundredfold weight. No, Fräulein, when I reckoned up the obstacles to the career I had set before me, I determined to ask no woman to share it. Till fate threw me across your path, I had never thought of marriage. But at the first glance, I said to myself, 'There is the complement of my own being; there is a woman whose soul is consumed like mine with a restless consciousness of the world's woes. No one can understand her as I do.' What shocks others in you is just what attracts me. My destiny can only be shared by one who has plenty of ambition and no dread of danger. If you are truly mine, give me your answer."

Fräulein Fruzsinka's only response was to throw herself on Ráby's breast and take his face between her hands.

Three weeks later, the marriage ceremony took place. When the wedding was over, the worthy prefect rubbed his hands and murmured, "Now thank Heaven, Mathias Ráby has already the yoke round his neck. That is something to be thankful for."

CHAPTER XV.

She never dreamed of going out without him, and was, as a matter of fact, jealous of every pretty woman, but Ráby liked to think that her watchfulness had regard rather to the designs of his enemies than from any other cause. He began to see that all women who love their husbands are alike, and that those stories of the wives of heroes who themselves spur their spouses on to fight and place the sword in their grasp, belong to the domain of myth, not to that of reality.

For the rest, Ráby's business seemed as if it was going to settle itself smoothly. The municipality gave orders to the district commissioner who, in his turn, forwarded directions to various subordinate officials, and a deputation, which was entrusted with full judicial powers, was elected to audit the accounts. All was ready for taking active steps, Ráby only needed to come forward with the formal impeachment, for he now held the threads of the business in his own hands.

The various officials concerned strongly suspected that they themselves were mixed up in the affair, but consoled themselves with the thought that the commissioner would himself preside.

But the district commissioner was very easy-going, had they known it, and that was his failing. He did not like seeing his friends set by the ears, therefore he betrayed the inimical intentions of each one to the other, in order to frustrate strife. They should leave one another alone; why quarrel, when you might live at peace with your neighbour, was his philosophy.

At last the important day dawned when the commission was to sit for the investigation of the Szent-Endre accounts. The district commissioner did not keep them long waiting. His impartiality was shown by his accepting an invitation to the prefect's to dinner, and by inviting himself to Ráby's to supper, for he too had been an old flame of Fruzsinka's.

They assembled for the great work in the Town Hall, and had unearthed accounts of years' standing—and nice models of book-keeping they were, full of erasures and corrections, just where the most important entries could be expected. Under such circumstances, the commissioner divided the work up, so that each one might do his share of it without being overlooked by the others. Ráby could have burst with indignation when he regarded the commission's irregularities as to procedure.

With the most unblushing impudence, all sorts of frauds, corruptions, and tyrannical methods were simply ignored in the investigation.

"Fiddlesticks!" exclaimed the commissioner to the protesting Ráby, "that happens everywhere."

And finally, when the worshipful commission of burghers who understood about as much of finance as a hen does of the alphabet, summed up the results of the revision, they gave out, that in spite of all efforts to make them balance, there was a deficit amounting to eighty-six thousand gulden, for which it was impossible to account.

"Fiddlesticks," cried the commissioner again, "let's go on!"

"No, no, we cannot possibly pass that over, and we will not go on," cried the indignant Ráby. "Does not your worship recollect that on account of just such a deficit, a captain of the guard had, but a while back, to stand in the pillory with a black board round his neck. Shall an officer of the imperial body guard be thus punished, and these who have hidden the gold, go free? These things are no trifles. Will you be pleased to order that the secret treasure-chest be produced."

The reference to the captain of the guard was not, it seemed, without its effect on the commissioner. He struck the table with his long cane as if to threaten the company, as he spoke.

"Hear, you people! This business passes all bearing. In the Emperor's name, I herewith order you to fetch out yon secret treasure-chest, in which the embezzled money is stored. And if it is not here by two o'clock this afternoon, at which hour we have to be ready with our report, I shall have you all clapped into the Dark Tower. So look you to it! Now we'll go to dinner!"

Ráby did not appear at the prefect's banquet; he never allowed his wife to have her meals alone. It seemed a long while till two o'clock, the hour named for the continuation of the investigation, when they promised to let him know. And he remembered the question of the timber had not been touched on. This must be worked in somehow.

At last it was time to go to the Town Hall. The councillors sat round the long table waiting for him.

"Now, you gentlemen," ordered the district commissioner, "out with your secret chest."

The notary rose obediently from his seat, and went into the adjoining room, whence he came back with a small iron casket about the size of a lady's workbox, which he brought and set down on the table.

"Here, your lordship, is our secret chest, here too is the key; be pleased to open it for yourself."

The district commissioner looked in, and found inside the sum of two gulden and forty-five kreutzers all told.

"This is our treasure," cried the notary dejectedly. Everyone burst out laughing, and even Ráby himself could not forbear joining in, though it was no matter for jest.

When the laugh had subsided, Ráby was the first to speak: "Now then, you gentlemen of the council, that was a pleasant jest, but permit me to remind you that it was a question not of this cash-box, but of the great chest, the secret way to which only the notary knows how to find."

"I know of a secret way?" exclaimed the notary. "Who dares say that of me? I beg the commission to search the Town Hall thoroughly, to see whether anyone can discover a secret passage there. If you find one, well, there is my head, ready to lie on the block!"

"I know well enough," said Ráby, "there is such a place: to brick it up perhaps is not difficult. But there is another entrance. The Rascian 'pope' knows it, and will be able to show us where the entrance to this stolen treasure is. I would suggest that he be cited."

To this the district commissioner had an objection.

"The Rascian 'pope' is an ecclesiastic, so cannot be summoned before a secular tribunal. He is under the immediate jurisdiction of the Patriarch of Carlovitz. The Patriarch will not understand the procedure of the Hungarian commissioners, but is only responsible to the Croatian and Slavonic tribunals. The Szent-Endre municipality can address a memorial to the Archbishop of Carlovitz to cite the Greek pastor of Szent-Endre at their tribunal, if he does not mind giving the information."

So this was settled.

Ráby looked at the clock.

"We had other circumstances to consider. There is still the question of the timber. My indictment charges the municipality with aiding and abetting great devastation in the woods. Whilst the poor are not allowed to pick even dry brushwood in winter, and the sick in the hospital are dying of cold, the overseers are allowed to sell timber, and to give away hundreds of stacks as bribes. This cannot be gainsaid. There are the felled trees to witness to it."

"What do you mean, Mr. Ráby? That is all very well, but it may, or may not be true. You just let us manage our own affairs," said the notary.

The district commissioner here remarked that the thing must be looked into, and if proven, this alone would be cause enough to bar all those concerned from holding office. He thereupon ordered a carriage should come round directly, so that they could examine the wood while it was yet daylight.

Whilst they were waiting to start, suddenly a man rushed in white with terror.

"For Heaven's sake, come quickly, gentlemen, the wood is on fire!"

All sprang up from the table, for sure enough the wood was on fire. In vain did Ráby try to appease them, the conflagration could only have just broken out, and it would be easy in the damp winter weather to master it. No one listened to him; it was all up with the commission and its enquiry.

All made for the street, shouting "Fire!" and clamouring for ladders and buckets to extinguish the flames. At last they produced the only watering-cart the city possessed, but a hind wheel was off, and how to get it along no one knew. Helpless confusion reigned. Crowds of distracted citizens ran up and down the streets; the men shouted, the women screamed. Amid the barking of the dogs, the cackling of hens, and the ringing of bells, the townspeople tore hither and thither as if possessed, while the dragoons galloped about trying to keep order.

"Come along, my dear fellow," said the district commissioner to Ráby. "Let's go to your poor wife, she will be distracted with fear and anxiety: it's time you consoled her."

And really it was the wisest thing Ráby could do.

And sure enough, there was Fruzsinka awaiting them at the gate, and it was touching to see how she fell on Ráby's neck, sobbing her heart out, for she had feared some harm had come to him. Nor did she recover herself, but the whole evening trembled every time the alarm bell rang, and was inattentive to their distinguished guest's choicest anecdotes which he told for their benefit during supper.

Before he left, the news came that the wood was quite destroyed by the fire.

"It is all your fault," he cried to Ráby. "Had you never raised that unlucky question about the timber, no one would have thought of setting fire to the wood, and this enormous damage might have been avoided."

Only the presence of his wife prevented Ráby coming to blows with the district commissioner.

CHAPTER XVI.

Ráby was astounded. This was precisely what he had intended to do, and the journey to Tyrnau had only been a pretext.

"I would lay the whole plot before him," went on Fruzsinka, "and would say, 'Sire, send a man in my place who may bring these conspirators to book, and make an end to their intrigues.'"

Ráby began to understand. Then he said aloud: "But I don't know of any man who would take on such an unthankful business."

"Is it possible that you mean then to go on with the struggle?" asked Fruzsinka plaintively. "Dearest, I beseech you, think of our position. We are living among enemies. Those who were not ashamed to set fire to the wood, to wipe out the proof of their guilt, will not shrink from burning our own house over our heads. I tremble each time you go out, and have no peace till I see you again. Every night I dream they have murdered you. O Ráby, the very thought of living among these people makes me shudder, there are surely no other such vindictive folk on the face of the earth. Come away from this place. Let us go to Vienna! There your career is made. Leave this thankless, malevolent people to their fate!"

Mathias Ráby's heart grew suddenly heavy, and a dark misgiving gripped him in its clutches.

"You would be the first to despise me," he exclaimed, "were I to be weakened by your words, and quit my post to fly to another country."

"Do you mean then to continue the struggle?"

"It is no question of struggle, but rather of right and wrong and just punishment," he answered gloomily.

"Ah, well! I suppose it is only womanly weakness that gets the best of me. Yet I, too, have thought out the whole affair. You mean that the embezzlements which you have brought to light shall be avenged?"

"Yes, that is what I do mean!"

"Now, has it ever occurred to you that if anyone investigates this affair, at least a part of the odium which it incurs, may fall on your wife?"

"How can that be, Fruzsinka?"

"You remember that absurd housekeeping account, don't you?"

"Yes, indeed, the one we all laughed at so heartily. But how would your name be mentioned in connection with such a business? The items were set down by the head cook, and the prefect settled the account."

"But everyone knows that it was to my advantage. Now suppose I was confronted with the prefect and the cook, in the case of a formal inquiry? Would not it be a disgrace for you?"

"And pray would it not be a disgrace," returned Ráby, "if your husband had to make this confession to the Emperor who sent him: 'Sire, I am no better than all the others you have sent to right your subjects' wrongs, and here I have come back to tell you that everywhere in this world roguery reigns triumphant.' And if he answered me never a word but just looked at me with those keen eyes of his, what shame should I not feel? You shrink at being confronted with the prefect, because the least morsel of the pitch which sticks to him may perchance darken the tip of your little finger, but you do not blush that I may stand before the Emperor and say: 'Sire, here is my wife, with whose paint I have daubed the prefect white.'"

Frau Fruzsinka at this changed her point of attack.

"Remember," she urged, "that if we fly in the face of my uncle, we risk losing a considerable property."

Now it was Ráby's turn.

"You fear the prospect of losing the property, but I tremble at the chance of your possessing it."

"I do not understand," faltered his wife.

"I quite believe you," returned Ráby bitterly.

Fruzsinka dared not pursue this tack further, it was time to try another. She threw herself on her husband's neck, and gazed with those wonderful eyes of hers straight into his.

"Ráby, did we swear that we would make the people, or ourselves happy, which was it, dear?"

At those words, and that glance, Ráby's heart softened.

What can one advance to those most unanswerable of arguments?

Who will blame Mathias Ráby if he weakly gave way then, as many a strong man had done before him, and threw his half-packed bag into a corner.

And as the temptress had gone so far, now she proceeded still further:

"Now I'll unpack for you," she cried merrily.

Thereupon, she took the hunting-pouch from the wall and carefully filled it with savoury spiced meat and flaky white bread; then she deftly replenished the flask with wine, and cried: "Now go and enjoy yourself! Don't stay mewed up in the house. You are bothered; well, go and get some sport, and let the fresh air blow the cobwebs away."

And so saying, she helped him on with his shooting coat, and handed him his gun, and so it fell out that Ráby hung up his sword and knapsack, and went neither to Tyrnau nor to Vienna, but just into the copse to try and shoot hares. He heard behind him, as he left the house, the merry song his wife was warbling to herself.

As he sauntered along the street, it occurred to him that up till now he had not met one of his former acquaintances in the town, nor seen a single one of his old schoolmates.

But just then, he ran on to a townsman, whose wasted bent frame and dejected air did not prevent Ráby from recognising him as one of his old contemporaries. The man wore a leathern apron, and carried carpenters' tools. He returned Ráby's greeting politely and was about to shuffle past him. But the latter stopped him.

"Dacsó Marczi! Is it possible? Are you really Marczi? And won't you just wait that we may have a word together; it is so long since we have met."

And he seized the limp hand of the stranger and held it fast.

"Oh, I am indeed glad to see your worship again," returned his new-found friend.

"Never mind 'my worship,' you can leave him out of it," said Ráby. "Didn't we sit beside each other at school, and you would pass me without a word? Tell me how things are going with you?"

The man looked round to left and right, and in his eyes there lurked a nameless fear.

"Well, as far as that goes," he began, "but don't let us talk here, it is not wise to discuss these things in the street."

Ráby dropped his hand. "Ah, you are afraid suspicion may rest on you if you are seen talking to me!"

"It is not that. But I fear, on the contrary, that it might be unpleasant for you, if you were seen talking to a mere carpenter. I am just going to look after my mates in the lower town who are putting new joists to the burned houses. May Heaven bless your efforts to help the poor people!" added the man in a lower voice.

"Good, I'll go with you," said Ráby, "it's all the same to me which way I take."

"But don't let yourself be drawn into talk with them. They are always ready to complain, and there are always people ready to repeat all that is said."

So they walked together down the street—the dapper sportsman, and the working-man in his leather apron.

Ráby well remembered the houses they passed, and their owners, and asked after the latter.

"Yes, they all live there still, but the houses no longer belong to them. The magistrate has bought one, the notary another, and Peter Paprika a third. The original owners are only there as tenants, and now they have put an execution in the houses."

"And wherefore?"

"For what was owing for tithes."

"And is old Sajtós still there, who used to be so good to us boys when we came home from school?"

"Yes, indeed, you may see her any Sunday at the church door begging."

"Sajtós begging? Why she was quite a well-to-do woman. What has happened to her?"

"Oh, the old story, 'bad times.' There are many more who have come to beggary in the same way. Just go any Sunday morning past the door of the Catholic church, where the beggars congregate, and you will see plenty of your old acquaintances," said Marczi sorrowfully.

"But what has brought them to it?"

And Marczi told him many a sad record of oppression and misery that wrung Ráby's heart as he listened.

But now they had arrived at the lower town, where the ruins of the forty houses burned out in the great fire still stood. The streets hereabouts were nearly a morass and all but impassable.

The men who were commencing to put the roofs on, greeted Ráby timidly, as if half afraid, and they quickly drove indoors the women who stood furtively about in the surrounding courts. Ráby's questions they only answered with the greatest caution, fencing with his enquiries as to why the work of restoration had been so long delayed. Marczi drew him away.

"They will never tell you where the shoe pinches," he said, "whatever bait you offer; they know too well what the end for them would be. You would listen to their grievance and then retail it to the Emperor. He would send to the town council to know why his subjects' wrongs were not redressed? Thereupon the complainants would be arrested, get twenty strokes with the lash, and the Kaiser would be told the grievances of his subjects were amended. Oh, our people know better than to complain! At no price would they confess why their houses are yet unfinished, or how much of the compensation is still owing."

"Surely their wrongs cry aloud to Heaven," said Ráby indignantly. "I only wish I could get documentary evidence of it!"

"Well, they won't give it to you, but if you really wish it, I could get you many such testimonies by to-morrow, and bring them to your house."

"And are you not afraid of the authorities being angry with you?"

"I? What does their anger matter to me, I don't need them, but they can't do without me. I've got them too much in my power. Listen, for you are an honest man, to no other would I venture to say it. One day they summoned me to bring my masons' tools to the Town Hall. No sooner had I arrived, than they bid me go to the secret passage with the notary, which only he and I know of; the aperture was made during the Turkish rule, and except the notary and the Rascian 'pope,' no one knows the whereabouts. I had to wall up the opening."

"So you know the entrance to the room which contains the secret treasure?"

"Yes, indeed, I know it; I have so managed it that no one save the notary shall ever be able to find it again."

"And would you be willing to take me to it?" Ráby ventured to ask.

"No, for they have bound me by a terrible oath never, except at the bidding of the notary, to break open the walled-up passage. What I have sworn, I hold sacred, but this much will I say, that you can still manage to get there."

"Through the 'pope' who knows the other entrance, eh?"

"Mark well, not through the first. It is as much as his life is worth to betray that secret. But there is another way yet. If you can gain the ear of the Emperor, persuade him to order the election of new representatives in the council, then there would be neither the judge, nor the notary, nor any at present in office to reckon with. If we get a new notary, I could show him the secret passage without any difficulty, since my oath compels me only to 'open it at the notary's bidding.'"

"That is a good idea, Marczi, I will try and follow it out."

"You too care for the rights of our poor oppressed folk. May the good God reward you! But I will tell you where our greatest danger lies; it is in the surveying of the land that the Emperor has ordered. The whole work the surveyor performs is a sham. The best fields under his survey become ownerless, and the municipality takes possession of them. The common folk have to be satisfied with sterile, marshy waste land, and the peasants have to sell their last cow, because they have no pasture for it. Come with me a little way, and I will show you."

So Ráby sauntered the livelong day with his old school-fellow through the fields, and saw much. If the new surveying measures were taken, four-fifths of the peasants' property was ruined, the remaining fifth was devoured by their oppressors, and the owner became houseless and a serf.

Towards evening, Ráby turned homewards with an empty game-bag and a heavy heart.

His mood surely had not escaped Fruzsinka, for she welcomed him with more than ordinary tenderness. She had prepared for his supper some of his favourite dumplings, but somehow even these delicacies failed to satisfy him, and he only wanted to go to bed.

The next morning, Marczi was there quite early. He brought what he had promised, a whole hoard of documents. Ráby took them into his study, and was the whole day long deciphering them.

Marczi, meantime, went about his own business.

As he came out towards the market-place, at the end of the long street, he heard the tones of a bagpipe, and the strains of a violin fell on his ear. But when he came up with the music, he saw what was going forward. The recruiting officers were coming down the street.

So the Emperor wanted soldiers, that was evident enough.

And a right merry affair it was, this recruiting!

They chose out from among the hussars the finest looking fellow, and he was sent from town to town with a dozen comrades to enlist recruits.

They played and sang some such song as this as they went: