Timar's Two Worlds Part 52

"And can you get into the bedroom from this hiding-place?"

"The picture of St. George is on hinges, and can be opened like a door."

"So that you can at any time enter Timea's room from that pa.s.sage?"

asked Michael, with an uncontrollable shudder.

Athalie smiled proudly. "I never needed to creep in to her by secret routes. Timea sleeps with open doors, and you know that I can always pa.s.s freely through her room. She sleeps so soundly too."

"Give me the key."

Athalie took the puzzle key from her pocket. The lower end was shaped like a screw, only on pressing the handle a key appeared. She showed Timar how to manage it. A voice in his heart--perhaps that of his guardian angel--whispered to Timar to throw this key into the deep well in the yard. But he took no heed of the voice; he only listened to Athalie's whisper in his ear.

"If you leave home to-morrow and come back at the signal, go straight to the hiding-place, and you will learn all you want to know. Will you come?"

"I shall be there."

"Do you generally carry arms?--a pistol or a dagger?--one can never tell what may happen. The picture of St. George opens to the right when you press on a b.u.t.ton-shaped handle, and when open it just covers Timea's bed. Do you understand?"

She pressed Michael's hand violently, looking with flaming eyes of rage into his, and added something, but not audibly. Only her lips moved, her teeth chattered, and her eyes rolled--they were soundless words. What could she have said? Timar stared in a dazed way like a sleep-walker, then suddenly raised his head to ask Athalie something. He was alone--only the key grasped in his hand showed that it was no dream.

Never had Timar suffered such torture as in the long hours till the evening of the next day. He followed Athalie's advice, and remained at home till noon. After dinner he said he must go to the Platten See and look after the fishery he had hired.

As he had crossed the ice-floes of the Danube on foot to get to Komorn, he could easily go over again without luggage in the same way. His carriage too was waiting on that side, for it had not yet been able to get across: a road would have to be prepared. Without any interview with his agents, without a glance at his books, he thrust a pile of bank-notes, uncounted, into his pocket, and left the house. At the threshold he met the postman, who brought a registered letter, and demanded a receipt. Michael was in too great haste to go back to his room; he carried pen and ink with him, and laying the receipt on the broad back of the postman, he signed his name to it. Then he looked at the letter. It was from his agent at Rio Janeiro; but without opening it, he put it in his pocket. What did he care for all the flour trade in the world? He kept one room in his house in the Servian Street always heated in winter. This room was entered by a separate staircase, which was kept locked, and was divided by several empty rooms from the offices. Timar reached it un.o.bserved; there he sat down by the window and waited.

The cold north wind outside drew lovely ice-flowers on the window-panes, so that no one could see in or out.

Now he would get what he wanted--the proof of Timea's infidelity. And yet--yet, the thought hurt him so deeply! While his fancy pictured this first private rendezvous between that woman and that man, every drop of blood seemed to rush to the surface and darken the light of his mind.

Shame, jealousy, thirst for vengeance consumed him.

It is hard to endure humiliation, even if some advantage is to be derived from it. He now began to feel what a treasure he possessed in Timea. He had been ready enough to abandon this treasure, or even voluntarily to give it back, but to allow himself to be robbed of it!--the thought enraged him. He struggled with himself as to what he should do. If Athalie's instilled poison had reached his heart, he would have kept to the idea of a murderous rush with a dagger in his hand from behind the picture, so as to kill the faithless wife amidst the hottest caresses of her lover. Athalie panted for Timea's blood; but a husband's revenge seeks a different object--he must have the man's life. Not like an a.s.sa.s.sin, but face to face--each with a sword in his hand, and then a struggle for life or death. Then, again, cold-blooded calculating reason comes uppermost, and says, "Why shed blood? you want scandal, not revenge; you should rush from your hiding-place, call in the servants, and drive the guilty woman and her seducer from your house. So a reasonable being would act. You are no soldier to seek satisfaction at the point of the sword. Here is the judge, and here the law."

But still he could not forbear from keeping stiletto and pistol ready on the table as Athalie had advised. Who knows what may happen? The moment will decide which gets the upper hand--whether the vengeful a.s.sa.s.sin, the dishonored husband, or the prudent man of business who would reckon an open scandal to his credit side, as facilitating the desired divorce.

Meanwhile evening had come. One lamp after another was lighted: Herr von Levetinczy paid for the lighting of this street out of his own pocket.

The shadows of the pa.s.sers-by flitted across the frozen panes.

One such figure stopped before the window, and a low knock was heard. It seemed to Timar as if the ice-flowers detached from the gla.s.s by the tap were the rustling leaves of a fairy forest, which whispered to him, "Do not go." He hesitated. The tap was repeated.

"I am coming!" he called in a low voice, took pistol and dagger, and crept out of the house.

The whole way he never met a human creature; the streets were already deserted. He only saw a dark shadow flitting on before him, vanishing in the darkness now and then, and at last slipping round the corner. He followed, and found all the doors open; some helping hand had opened the wicket, the house-door, and even the closet in the wall. He could enter without any noise; at the point described he found the movable screw, and put the key in its place; the secret door flew open, and shut behind him.

Timar found himself in the concealed pa.s.sage--a spy in his own house.

Yes! A spy too! What meanness was there he had not committed? and all this "because a poor fellow remains always only a clerk, and it is the rich for whom life is worth living." Now he has riches and splendor.

Stumbling and feeling about, he groped along the wall, till he came to a part where a feeble light was perceptible. There was the picture of St.

George: the light of the lamp shone through the crevices of the mosaic.

He found the movable piece of mother-of-pearl, in whose place was a thick sheet of gla.s.s. He looked into the room; on the table stood a lamp with a ground gla.s.s shade. Timea walked up and down.

An embroidered white dress floated from her waist; her folded hands hung down. The door of the antechamber opened, and Frau Sophie came in; she said something low to Timea, but Timar could hear every whisper.

This hole in the wall was like the ear of Dionysius, it caught every sound. "Can he come?" asked Frau Sophie.

"I am waiting for him," said Timea.

Then Frau Sophie went out again. Timea drew from her wardrobe a drawer, and took out a box; she carried it to the table and stood opposite Timar, so that the lamp threw its whole light on her face; the listener could detect the slightest change of expression. Timea opened the box.

In it lay a sword-hilt and a broken blade. At first glance the woman started, and her contracted brows betokened horror. Then her face cleared, and took once more, with its meeting eyebrows, the look of a saint's picture, with a black halo round its brow. Tenderness dawned in her melancholy features; she lifted the box and held the sword so near her lips that Timar began to tremble lest she should kiss it. Even the sword was his rival.

The longer Timea looked at it, the brighter grew her eyes. At last she plucked up courage to grasp the hilt; she took it out and made pa.s.ses in the air with it. . . . If she had known that there was some one near her to whom every stroke was torture--

There was a tap at the door. Timea put down the broken sword hastily, and stammered out a faint "Come in!" But first she pulled down the lace of her sleeves, which had fallen back from her wrist. The major entered.

He was a fine man, with a handsome, soldierly face. Timea did not go to meet him, but stood by the lamp; Timar's eyes never left her.

d.a.m.nation!--what did he see? As the major entered Timea blushed. Yes, the marble statue could glow with sunrise tints, the saint's image could move, and the virginal snow-white adorned itself with roses. The white face had found some one who could set it on fire. Was further proof, were words wanting?

Timar was near bursting from the picture, and, like the dragon before St. George killed it, would have thrown himself between the two before Timea's lips could speak what her face betrayed.

But no. Perhaps he had only dreamed it--Timea's face was colorless as ever. With calm dignity she signed to the major to take a chair; she sat down on a distant sofa, and her look was severe and cold. The major held his shako in one hand, and in the other his sword with its golden knot, and sat as stiff as if he had been in his general's presence. They looked at each other in silence--both struggling with painful thoughts.

Timea broke the silence. "Sir, you sent me a curious letter in company with a yet more singular present. It was a broken sword." She opened the box and took out a letter. "Your letter runs thus: 'Gracious lady, I have fought a duel to-day, and my adversary owes it only to the chance that my sword broke that he was not killed on the spot. This duel is intimately connected with most extraordinary circ.u.mstances, which concern you, and still more _your husband_. Allow me a few minutes'

interview, that I may tell you what you ought to know.' In this letter the words 'your husband' are twice underlined, and this it was which decided me to give you the opportunity of speaking to me. Speak! In what does your duel concern the private affairs of Herr von Levetinczy?

I will listen to you as long as what you have to say treats of him: if you enter on any other subject I will leave you."

The major bowed with grateful fervor. "I will begin then, madame, by telling you that an unknown man has been about in the town, who wears the uniform of a naval officer, and therefore has an _entree_ to military society. He seems to be a man of the world, and is an entertaining companion. Who he may be I know not, for it is not my way to be inquisitive. This man has spent some weeks among us, and seems to have plenty of money. He gave as a reason for being here that he was waiting for Herr von Levetinczy, with whom he had important private affairs to settle. At last he began to annoy us, and looked so mysterious as he asked every day about Herr von Levetinczy, that we fancied he must be an adventurer, and one day we drove him into a corner. We wished to know what manner of man he was, and I undertook the inquiry. When we asked why he did not go to your husband's agents, he said his business was of a very private and delicate nature, which could only be personally discussed. 'Listen,' I said. 'I do not believe that you have any delicate business with Herr von Levetinczy; who you are we do not know, but we do know that he is a man of honor and character, whose position and reputation are above suspicion. He is a man whose private life is blameless, and who can therefore have no reason for private interviews with people of your sort.'"

While the major spoke, Timea had risen slowly; she now stepped up to him and said, "I thank you."

And again Timar saw on her white cheek that soft rosy glow, never seen by him before, but which now rested there. The woman had flushed at the thought that the man she loved could defend him who, as her husband, stood between their two hearts.

The major continued his narrative, and in order not to confuse Timea by looking at her, sought some other object in the room on which to fix his eye. He chose the dragon's head in the picture of St. George. But that was the exact spot through which Timar looked into the room, so that it seemed to him as if the major directed his words purposely to him, although it was much too dark where Timar stood for any one to see him.

"On this the man's face changed suddenly; he leaped up like a sleeping dog when one treads on his tail. 'What!' he cried, so that every one could hear. 'You think Levetinczy is a rich man with a great name--a clever man, a happy family man, a faithful subject? I will prove to you that this man, if I can once meet him, will take flight from here next day--that he will leave his lovely wife and his house in the lurch, and fly from Hungary, from Europe, so that you will never hear of him again.'"

Timea's hand strayed involuntarily to the hilt of the broken sword.

"Instead of answering the man, I struck him in the face."

Timar drew back his head from the peep-hole, as if the blow might reach him.

"I saw at once that the man regretted what he had said. He would gladly have escaped the consequences of the blow, but I would not let him off.

I stood in his way and said, 'You are an officer and carry a sword--you know to what such an affair leads among men of honor. There is a ball-room upstairs at the hotel; we will have the candles lighted; then you shall choose two of us as seconds, I also will choose two, and we will fight it out.' We did not leave him time for reflection. The man fought like a pirate: twice he tried to seize my sword with his left hand; then I got angry and gave him such a cut over the head that he fell. Luckily for him, it was with the flat of the blade, which was the reason of my sword breaking. The next day the man, so our surgeon told me, had left the town--his wound can not have been a dangerous one."

Timea took out the Turkish sword and looked at the hilt; then she laid it on the table and stretched out her hand in silence to the major. He took it gently in both his own, and carried it to his lips; it could hardly be seen whether he kissed it. Timea did not draw it away.

"I thank you!" whispered the major, so low that Timar could not hear it in his hiding-place, but the eyes said it too. A long pause followed.

Timea sat down again on the sofa and supported her head on her hand.

The major spoke at last. "I did not request an interview, gracious lady, to boast of a deed which in itself must be painful to you, and was really only the duty of a friend, nor to receive the thanks you so kindly offered me by a grasp of the hand. That was a more than sufficient reward. But not on that account did I request you to meet me, but to ask a very important question. Gracious lady, is it possible that there should be any truth in what this man said?"

Timea started as if struck by lightning. And the bolt struck Timar too; every nerve thrilled at the question.