Timar's Two Worlds Part 59

Noemi hastened to cut the rope which fastened the door-bolt with her sharp knife, and Almira raised herself on her fore-feet and suddenly gave utterance to a bark.

The next moment Michael had Noemi and Dodi in his arms. Almira crawled to her beloved master, raised her head to him once again, licked his hand, then fell back dead.

"Will you never leave us again?" faltered Noemi.

"Don't leave us alone any more," begged little Dodi.

Michael pressed both to his breast, and his tears streamed over his dear ones. "Never--never--never!"

CHAPTER VII.

THE CORPSE.

With the last days of March the hard winter of this year came to an end.

Balmy south winds and rain softened the ice of the Platten See, which broke up during a strong north wind, and drove over to the Somogy sh.o.r.e.

Among the floating ice the fishermen found a body. It was already in an advanced stage of decomposition, and the features were unrecognizable; but yet the ident.i.ty of the individual could be ascertained with the greatest certainty. These were the mortal remains of Michael Timar Levetinczy, who disappeared so suddenly after the memorable capture of the fogasch-king, and for whose return those at home had waited so long.

On the body could be recognized clothes belonging to that gentleman--his astrakhan pelisse, his studs, and his initials marked on the shirt. His repeater was in the waistcoat-pocket, with his full name enameled on the case. But the strongest proof was afforded by the pocket-book, which was crammed with bank-notes, whose number could still be deciphered, and on which Timea's hand had embroidered "Faith, Hope, Charity;" while in the side-pocket were four other letters tied together, but the writing was completely obliterated, as they had been four months exposed to the action of water. About the same time, the fishermen at Fured found Herr von Levetinczy's gun entangled in a net. Now all was explained.

Old Galambos remembered all about it. The gracious master had said to him that if foxes and wolves came down on to the lake in the night, he would go out with his gun and have a shot at them.

Many others then remembered that on that night a snow-storm had pa.s.sed across the lake, which only lasted a short time. No doubt, to this was due the accident to the n.o.ble lord. The snow blew in his face; he did not notice the ice-rift, fell in, and was sucked under.

When Timea received the first news of the event, she went at once to Siosok, and was present in person at the judicial inquiry. When she saw her husband's clothes she fainted away, and could only with difficulty he brought back to consciousness; but she held her ground, she was present when the disfigured remains were laid in the leaden coffin, and specially inquired for the ring of betrothal, which, however, was lost--the fingers were gone.

Timea had the dear relics brought to Komorn, and interred in the splendid family vault, with all the pomp which is permissible by the rites of the Protestant Church, to which the deceased had belonged. On the black velvet coffin, name and age were marked with silver nails.

Senators and deputies carried him to the hea.r.s.e. On the coffin lay his knightly sword, with a laurel crown, and the decorations of the Hungarian Order of St. Stephen, the Italian Order of San Maurizio, and the Brazilian Annunciata star.

The pall-bearers were Hungarian counts, and on each side of the hea.r.s.e walked the dignitaries of the city. Before it marched the school-children, the guilds with their banners, then the national guard in uniform and with m.u.f.fled drums: behind came the ladies of the town all in black, and among them the mourning widow, with the white face and with weeping eyes. The celebrities of the country and the capital, the military authorities, even his majesty had sent a representative to the funeral of the venerated man. With them went a countless mult.i.tude of people, and amidst the tolling of all the bells the procession moved through the town. And every bell and every tongue proclaimed that a man was gone whose like would never be seen again: a benefactor of the people, a pillar of the nation, a faithful husband, and the founder of many a generous endowment.

The "Man of Gold" was carried to his grave. Women, men, and children followed him through the whole town to the distant cemetery. Athalie too was in the procession. When they bore the coffin down to the open grave, the nearest friends, relations, and admirers of the deeply mourned followed him into the vault.

Among them was Major Katschuka; in the crowd on the narrow steps he came in contact with Timea and--with Athalie. When they came up again, Athalie threw herself on the bier and prayed to be buried too: luckily Herr Johann Fabula was there, and he raised the beautiful lady from the ground, bore her back in his arms to the daylight, and explained to the astonished crowd how much the young lady had loved the dear deceased, who had been a second father to her.

After the lapse of a few months a splendid monument was erected on which might be read this inscription in letters of gold:--

HERE LIES THE HIGH AND n.o.bLE LORD, MICHAEL TIMAR LEVETINCZY.

Privy Councilor, President of Committees, Knight of the Orders of St. Stephen, St. Maurice, and the Annunciata.

The great Patriot, the True Christian, the Exemplary Husband, the Father of the Poor, Guardian of the Orphan, Supporter of Schools, a Pillar of the Church.

Regretted by all who knew him, eternally mourned by his

FAITHFUL WIFE TIMeA.

On the granite pedestal stands a marble statue of a woman bearing a funeral urn. Every one says this statue is a faithful likeness of Timea.

And Timea goes every day to the burial-ground to deck the gra.s.s with fresh wreaths, and to water the flowers which smell so sweetly within the railings of the tomb: she waters them with showers of cold water--and burning tears.

Theodor Krisstyan could never have dreamed that he would be so highly honored after his death.

CHAPTER VIII.

DODI'S LETTER.

A year and a half pa.s.sed away since Michael came home to the ownerless island. He had not left it for a single day.

Great events had occurred during this interval. Dodi had learned to write. What joy when the little dunce made his first attempt with chalk on a board: the letters are dictated to him--"write _l_ and _o_, and then p.r.o.nounce them both together." He was surprised that that meant _lo_ (Hungarian for horse), and yet he had not drawn a horse. A year later he could address a birthday letter to his mother in beautiful copper-plate on white paper--it was a greater achievement than Cleopatra's Needle, covered with hieroglyphics.

When Dodi's first letter was fluttering in Noemi's hand, she said, with a tear in her eye, to Michael, "He will write like you."

"Where have you seen my handwriting?" asked Michael, in surprise.

"In the copies you set Dodi, to begin with; and then too in the contract by which you gave us the island. Have you forgotten?"

"Yes; it is so long ago."

"And do you not write to any one now?"

"No one."

"You have not left the island for a year and a half; have you nothing to do now out in the world?"

"No. And I shall never have anything to do there again."

"What will become of your business then?"

"Would you like to know?"

"Yes, indeed. The thought troubles me that a clever man like you should be shut up here in the narrow bounds of this island, and only because you love us: if you have no other reason for staying here always except your great love for us, it pains me."

"It is well, Noemi. I will tell you then who I was out there in the world, what I did there, and why I stay here. You shall know all: when you have put the boy to bed, come to me on the veranda and I will tell you everything. You will shudder and wonder over what you will hear; but in the end you will forgive me, as G.o.d forgave me when He sent me here."

After supper Noemi put Dodi to bed, and then came out to Michael, sat beside him on the bench, and leaned on his breast. The full moon shone down on them between the leaves: it was now no longer the ghostly star, the ice-paradise of suicides, but a kind acquaintance and friend. And then Michael told Noemi all that had befallen him out in the world.

The sudden death of the mysterious pa.s.senger, the sinking of the ship and the concealed treasures: how he had married Timea. He described her sorrow and her suffering; he spoke of Timea to Noemi as of a saint; and when he described faithfully the nocturnal scene when he had watched Timea from his hiding-place, and how the woman had defended her husband against evil report, against her own beloved, and against her own heart, how Noemi sobbed and how her tears flowed for Timea!

And then Michael described to her what he had suffered in the fearful situation from which he could not free himself, having on one side the ties of his worldly position, his riches, and Timea's fidelity; while his love, his happiness, and every aspiration of his soul drew him in another direction. How sweetly Noemi consoled him with her soft kisses!