An unpleasant thing happened to Veronica too. As soon as she was alone in the Mravucsans' best bedroom, she locked the door, hung a cloak on the door-handle so that no one could look through the key-hole, drew the curtains across the tiny windows which opened on to the courtyard, and then began to undress. She had taken off the bodice of her dress and unfastened her skirt, when all at once she became aware of two bright eyes watching her intently from under the bed. It was a kitten, and it was gazing at her as intently and admiringly as though it had been a prince changed by some old witch into the form of a cat. Veronica, alarmed, caught up her skirt and bodice, and put them on again.

"Go along, you tiresome kitten," she said; "don't look at me when I'm undressing."

She was such an innocent child, she was ashamed to undress before the kitten. She dressed again, and tried to drive it out of the room, but it hid itself under the bed, then jumped on a cupboard, and it was quite impossible to get rid of it. Mrs. Mravucsan, hearing the noise from the next room, called out:

"What is the matter, my dear?"

"I can't drive the cat out."

"Never mind, she won't hurt you."

"But she always watches me," answered Veronica.

She put her candle out, and began to undress in the dark, but that tiresome cat walked into the middle of the room again, and her eyes shone more than ever.

"Wait a bit, you curious little thing," said Veronica. "I'll get the best of you yet."

She made a barricade of chairs, then got inside it, as though she were in a fortress, and began to undo her boots. Do you think that barricade made any impression on the kitten? Not a bit of it. There she was again, on the top of the chairs, from there one jump took her on to the washing-stand, and another on to Veronica's bed. There she was seized upon and a shawl bound round her head.

"Now, kitty, stare at me if you can!"

And after that she managed to undress in peace.

CHAPTER II.

NIGHT BRINGS COUNSEL.

While the two ladies were occupied with these trifles, and Klempa with his beard sealed to the table slept the sleep of the just, Gyuri had also retired to his bed, but found it impossible to sleep. It was not from indigestion, for Mrs. Mravucsan's excellent supper had not disagreed with him; it was his brain which was hard at work, going over all the incidents that had taken place that day. He seemed to have lived through years in the last few hours. What an age it seemed since he had looked for the umbrella in Mrs. Muncz's shop! And it was found quite unexpectedly. G.o.d had given it into the charge of an angel.

From the umbrella his thoughts flew to the "angel."

She was a nice little thing, he decided; not a bit unpleasant like other girls of that age he knew, who were thoughtless, useless creatures.

Veronica was an exception. And she seemed to have taken to him too.

He pa.s.sed again in revision all her words, her movements, and as he went on, he found among the smiles, the softened voice, the unwatched moments, certain signs of coldness here and there, as though she were putting a restraint upon herself.

But he was so happy now, that he did not need the friendship of a silly girl. He was a rich man now, a nabob beginning from to-day. He would live like a prince henceforward, spend the winter in Budapest, or on the Riviera, in Monaco, and the summer at Ostend; in fact, he would be a grand gentleman, and not even look at poor priests' sisters. (How tiresome it was, his thoughts would always return to Veronica.)

Sleep would not come, how could it be expected? One scheme after the other pa.s.sed before his mind's eye, like the b.u.t.terflies in the Glogova woods. And he chased them all in turn. Oh! if it were only daylight, and he could move on. His watch was ticking on the table beside his bed; he looked at it, the hands pointed to midnight. Impossible! It must be later than that; his watch must be slow! Somewhere in the distance a c.o.c.k crew, as much as to say: "Your watch is quite right, Mr. Wibra." He heard faint sounds of music proceeding from the "Frozen Sheep" in the distance, and some one on his way home was singing a Slovak shepherd's song.

Gyuri lighted a cigar, and sat down to smoke it and think things over.

How strangely the umbrella had been found--at least _he_ had not found it yet, it was not yet in his possession, and when he came to look at the facts, he found he was not much nearer to it than he had been. Until now he had supposed it had been thrown away as a useless rag, and he had had little hope of finding it. And now, what had happened? Things were quite different to what they had imagined them; for as it turned out, the umbrella was a treasure, a relic in a church. What was to be done about it? What was he to say to the priest to-morrow? "I have come for my umbrella"? The priest would only laugh at him, for, either he was bigoted and superst.i.tious, in which case he would believe St. Peter had brought the umbrella to his sister, or he was a Pharisee, and in that case he would not be such a fool as to betray himself.

The wind was rising, and the badly fitting windows and door of the little room that had been allotted to him were rattling, and the furniture cracked now and then. He could even hear the wind whistling through the Liskovina Wood, not far from the house. Gyuri blew out the light and lay down again under the big eider-down quilt, and imagined he saw the corpse Mr. Mravucsan had spoken of, hanging from a tree, waving from side to side in the wind, and nodding its head at him, saying: "Oh, yes, Mr. Wibra, you'll be well laughed at in the parish of Glogova."

The lawyer tossed about on the snow-white pillows, from which an odor of spring emanated (they had been out in the garden to air the day before).

"Never mind," thought he, "the umbrella is mine after all. I can prove it in a court of justice if necessary. I have witnesses. There are Mr.

Sztolarik, Mrs. Muncz and her sons, the whole town of Besztercebanya."

Then he laughed bitterly.

"And yet, what am I thinking of? I can't prove it, for, after all, the umbrella does not belong to me, but to the Muncz family, for the old man bought it. So only that which is in the handle belongs to me. But can I go to the priest and say: 'Your reverence, in the handle of the umbrella is a check for 200,000 or 300,000 florins, please give it to me, for it belongs of right to me'?"

Then Gyuri began to wonder what the priest would answer. He either believed the legend of the umbrella, and would then say: "Go along, do!

St. Peter is not such a fool as to bring you a check on a bank from Heaven!" Or if he did look in the handle and find the receipt, he would say: "Well, if he did bring it, he evidently meant it for me." And he would take it out and keep it. Why should he give it to Gyuri? How was he to prove it belonged to him?

"Supposing," thought our hero, "I were to tell him the whole story, about my mother, about my father, and all the circ.u.mstances attending his death. Let us imagine he would believe it from Alpha to Omega; of what use would it be? Does it prove that the treasure is mine? Certainly not. And even if it did, would he give it to me? A priest is only a man after all. Could I have a lawsuit, if he would not give it me? What nonsense! Of course not. He might take the receipt out of the handle, and what proofs can I bring then that it was ever in it?"

The perspiration stood on his forehead; he bit the bed-clothes in his helpless rage. To be so near to his inheritance, and yet not be able to seize hold of it!

"Black night, give counsel!" was Gyuri's prayer. And it is best, after all, to turn to the night for help. Gyuri was right to ask its advice, for it is a good friend to thought. Among the Golden Rules should be written: "Think over all your actions by night, even if you have decided by day what course to take!" For a man has night thoughts and day thoughts, though I do not know which are the better. I rather think neither kind is perfect. For daylight, like a weaver, works its colors into one's thoughts, and night covers them with its black wings. Both of them paint, increase and decrease things--in one word, falsify them.

Night shows the beloved one more beautiful than he is, it strengthens one's enemies, increases one's troubles, diminishes one's joy. It is not kind of it; but night is sovereign, and is answerable to no one for its actions. Take things as they come, but do not put aside serious thought when you are seeking the truth. Though, of course, you do not really seek the truth; even if it comes to meet you, you get out of its way. I ought to have said, do not despise the night when you are trying to find the way out of a thing. Night will show you what to do, without your even noticing it. If it can do it in no other way, it brings you gentle sleep, and gives you advice in dreams.

After a time the wind dropped, the music at the "Frozen Sheep" ceased, and Gyuri heard nothing but a rhythmic murmur, and all at once he seemed to be in the woods of Glogova, chasing b.u.t.terflies with Veronica.

As they ran on among the bushes, an old man suddenly appeared before them, with a golden crook, a glory round his head, and his hat hanging by a bit of string from his neck.

"Are you Mr. Wibra?" he inquired.

"Yes; and you?"

"I am St. Peter."

"What do you want?"

"I wish to sign a receipt for your happiness."

"For my happiness?"

"I see you cannot get your umbrella, and my friend Gregorics has asked me to help you. So I am quite willing to sign a paper declaring that I did not give the umbrella to the young lady."

"It is very good of you, but I have neither paper nor ink here. Let us go back to the village."

"I have no time for that; you know I have to be at the gates of Heaven, and I can't stay away for long."

"Well, what am I to do, how am I to get my umbrella?"

St. Peter turned his back, and began to walk back the way he had come, but stood still beside a large oak-tree, and made a sign to Gyuri to approach. Gyuri obeyed.

"I'll tell you what, my friend, don't think too long about it, but marry Veronica, and then you will have the umbrella too."

"Come," said Gyuri, catching hold of the golden crook. "Come and ask her brother to give his permission."

He pulled hard at the crook, but at that moment a strong hand seemed to pull him back, and he awoke.