The Village Notary Part 17

"For G.o.d's sake!" said Vilma, "is Viola here?"

The Liptaka's reply was prevented by the appearance of Akosh. To attempt a description of Vilma's joy would be a vain endeavour. No word in any language can convey to those who never felt the like, any idea of the deep, heartfelt happiness which was expressed in her gestures and face, and in the tone with which, calling out her mother's name and that of her lover, she hurried the new comer into the next room.

The old nurse left the room by the opposite door. "Now for Viola,"

muttered she; "for he, too, loves his wife. Why, old fool that I am! my eyes have got full of tears in looking at the children! I can't help it; but I must think of my own Jantshy, and how I loved him, and how happy we were; and now the poor fellow is buried in France. It is written, Man shall not sever what G.o.d has brought together; but, for all that, the magistrates took Jantshy from me, and made him a soldier."

She was roused from these cogitations by a low voice, calling her name.

"Who's there?" said the old woman.

"It is I! Don't you know me?"

"Peti!" cried the Liptaka. "I thought you were at Dustbury. Where do you come from?"

"For G.o.d's sake, be quiet! Is _he_ here?"

"Who?--Viola?"

"Yes! Whom else could I mean?"

The Liptaka was silent, for she knew that there were false brethren in Viola's gang.

"Do you suspect _me_?" said the gipsy, impatiently. "I have been on my legs ever since yesterday; but, if _you_ do not know where he is, I must run until I find him, tired though I am."

"Are you coming to see him on business?"

"I _must_ talk to Viola! I _must_, I tell you!"

"Very well; come with me," said the Liptaka, moved by the plaintive voice of the gipsy: and, more than half ashamed of having suspected him, she added: "One _does_ get cautious in this sad time, since there are so many rascals even among the poor people."

The notary's house was indeed the home of happiness. They say, love spoils a man's appet.i.te; but a ride of twenty miles goes a great way to counteract at least this symptom of the complaint. Mrs. Ershebet had cause to be pleased with her guest, who, fatigued with his ride and starved with the cold, was in that lucky temper in which a man enjoys a warm room and a hot supper.

"Take another piece of this tart," said Mrs. Ershebet, when young Rety's attention to the dishes began to flag; "it is not so good as the pastry your worship is accustomed to, but it is of the best our poor house can afford. It is, perhaps, a little too brown,--for your worship came later than we expected; but it is very soft. Take some, I pray."

Akosh--who would have done any thing to escape the _peine forte et dure_ of the tart, protested against Mrs. Ershebet's ceremonious address. "Am I a stranger to you, that you should call me 'your worship?' Have you not a kinder name for me?"

Ershebet was confused; but the look which she cast at Akosh expressed so much affection and joy, that the latter, kissing her hand, continued: "Call me your Akosh! call me your son! for that is the t.i.tle I covet most."

"My dear Akosh!--my son!--if you will have it so," said Mrs. Ershebet, with tears in her eyes. "You are good, you are generous, Akosh. No man in this world is so deserving of Vilma's love: and yet you can have no idea what a treasure the girl really is!"

Vilma embraced her mother, while Akosh kissed her hand; and his soul was moved as he thought of his own mother.

"Is it not too childish?" said Mrs. Ershebet, at length. "I weep with joy when I see you both, and feel the happiness which you might find in your love; but I forget how many obstacles there are between the present moment and that in which I may call you really and truly my son. Dearest child," continued Mrs. Ershebet, "you had better tell them to take the things away:" and, when Vilma had left the room, she pressed Rety's hand, and said, with a trembling voice: "Akosh! I implore you, make my child happy!"

Akosh was silent; but he pressed her hand, and his eyes filled with tears.

"You cannot know--you cannot think--how devotedly the girl loves you!

and if she were deceived; if she----"

"Do you think me so mean, so utterly abandoned, as to make myself unworthy of Vilma's love?"

"No, my dear Akosh! not by any means!" said Mrs. Ershebet, with great composure. "If I did not respect you so much, surely there would be no need of this conversation; nor would I, for the first time in my life, disobey my husband's commands. I would not receive you in my house if I were not convinced of your n.o.ble and generous nature. But, Akosh, you are rich--you have a grand future before you; and it is this which makes me anxious. Look at all the great families whom you know, and tell me how many there are with whom real love and real happiness dwell? Your life offers a thousand enjoyments--a thousand temptations: it is full of purpose and splendour; glory and popularity surround you. Have you the strength to keep your heart undivided amidst so many objects? For to be happy, Vilma wants your whole heart. The fragments of a husband's love cannot satisfy her. And besides," continued Mrs. Ershebet, when Akosh had done his best to convince her of the immutability of his love, "have you thought of all the objections which others may raise?"

"I shall be twenty-four in a few weeks, and consequently independent. My mother's property, of which I am already possessed, is enough to keep my wife and me; and if my father _were_ to quarrel with me, I do not care.

I prefer Vilma's love to all!"

"I believe you, dear Akosh," said Mrs. Ershebet; "but what will Tengelyi say? He is good and loving; but when he takes it into his head that something is opposed to his principles, no power on earth can make him yield."

"Except the power of love," said Akosh.

"No, not even that: Jonas never loved any thing or anybody as he does me; may G.o.d bless him for it! and still I cannot obtain any thing from him that is opposed to his convictions."

"Yes; but can it be against his principles to see his daughter happy?

may we not hope for his blessing? As for _my_ father, why should we despair of _his_ consent? n.o.body knows him better than Vandory does, and he told me over and over again that my father is sure to yield."

Mrs. Ershebet's fears were dispelled. Akosh told her that he intended to take Vilma to his new residence, in a neighbouring county, where she need not come into contact with his mother-in-law. Mrs. Ershebet, to whom he explained the whole arrangement of the house, rose up as her daughter entered, and pressed her to her heart.

"So, my children," said Mrs. Ershebet, taking Akosh and Vilma by the hand, "be true and constant in your love, and G.o.d will not allow you to be separated. You see Jonas and me; we had many difficulties to contend with; but we overcame them. Come, my dears," continued the good woman, kissing Vilma's forehead, "speak to each other now, and say all you have to say, for G.o.d knows when you will meet again."

"Vilma," said Akosh, taking the blushing girl by the hand, "your eyes were filled with tears when I came. Why did you weep?"

"Oh! you will laugh at me! I am a weak, frightened girl; we were all anxious about you; and when I saw you safe----"

"My angel, how happy you make me with your love! When I look into your eyes, and see their loving gaze fixed upon me; and when I hear your sweet voice; when I press your hand to my lips, and think that this hand is to be mine--that within a short time perhaps you are to be truly, wholly mine, I feel as in a dream, or as if some misfortune _must_ happen to us, for I cannot conceive it possible for human beings to be so thoroughly happy!"

"For G.o.d's sake take care!" cried Vilma. "You are bold and careless of danger. You shun n.o.body; but you ought to think of _us_. My mother, too, was greatly frightened to-night."

"On account of my staying away?"

"Certainly! and on account of the fog. We thought you had met with some accident in the swamps of St. Vilmosh."

"If there are no greater dangers than those of the Dustbury road, you may be easy," replied Akosh, smiling. "There is not at present water enough in the swamps of St. Vilmosh to drown a child; and my only danger to-night was one which certainly does no credit to me--I lost my way.

The fog was so dense that I was hopelessly lost; and perhaps I should still be erring in the wilderness but for the sound of hoofs, which I heard at a distance. I turned my horse in the direction of the sound; but when I approached the horseman, he went off in a gallop. I followed, and we made a race of it, in which he beat me. At last I saw a light, and found myself at the entrance of the village. I presume the man, who belonged to the village, mistook me for a robber. Thank goodness I met him, for without him I had no chance of finding my way."

"But how will you return?" said Vilma, anxiously. "My mother tells me that you intend going back this very night."

"Of course I must, unless I wish my expedition to be known at Dustbury.

I have tied my horse to the garden gate. At midnight I must take to the saddle, and the dawn of morning finds me in the council-house. But I promise you I will not lose my way this time; and----but really things cannot remain as they are! This state of uncertainty is unbearable. I will speak to your father."

"Beware!" cried Vilma. "We cannot hope for my father's consent until your father gives his."

"But I know my father will approve of my choice. I will open my heart to him. I will tell him how dearly I love you, and that I cannot be happy without you. I will tell him that to live with you is bliss; but that to live away from you is worse than h.e.l.l. And if I tell him all this, asking for his blessing and nothing else, trust me he will not refuse it. Oh, Vilma! we are sure to be happy!"

Vilma did not withdraw her hand, which Akosh seized; nor did she speak to confirm her lover in his hopes; but there was a heaven of joy in the look which she cast upon him.

"Yes, Vilma, we are sure to be happy. I have spoken to your mother, and explained everything. I have a home not far from here--it was my mother's property; and my father gave it into my hands. I have had the garden put to rights. The rooms of the little house are comfortably furnished--it is there we will live. Of course your father and mother go with us."

"And Mother Liptaka," said the girl, smiling with gladness, "she is so fond of us."