Chapter III: Little Veronica Is Taken Away

But it was of no use Sztolarik preaching about the uselessness of worldly goods, for those worldly goods are very pleasant to have.

When a favorite child dies, the members of the family always pronounce very wise words, which are supposed to comfort one another, such as: "Who knows how the child would have turned out? It might have come to the gallows in time; perhaps it was better it had died now," etc. But for all that, wisdom has never yet dried our tears.

Sztolarik said all he could think of to console Gyuri, but the young lawyer was quite cast down at the thought that his dreams would never now be realized; his whole life was before him, dark and threatening. But the world was the same as of old, and everything went just the same as though Widow Adamecz had never burned the handle of the umbrella.

The hands of the parish clock pointed to the Roman figure II., and the chimes rang out on the air; the servants laid the table for dinner, Mrs. Adamecz brought in the soup, and his reverence led his guests into the dining-room, and placed them right and left of Madame Krisbay, when all at once they noticed that Veronica was missing.

"I was just going to ask," said Madame Krisbay, "if she had been with the gentlemen?"

"I thought she was with you," said the priest.

"I have not seen her for two hours."

"Nor I."

"Nor we."

"Perhaps she is in the kitchen?"

Madame Krisbay looked vexed, got up from her seat, and went into the kitchen to call her pupil, but returned at once with the remark that she had not been seen there either.

"Where can she be?" exclaimed the priest, and ran out to look for her, sending the servants to some of her favorite seats in the garden, thinking she might have gone there to read, and have forgotten the time.

Mrs. Adamecz grumbled in the kitchen, for the dinner was spoiling.

"Well, serve the dinner," said Father Janos, for, of course, he could not keep his guests waiting, especially as Sztolarik wanted to return home as soon as possible.

So the dishes were brought in one after the other, but still there was no sign of Veronica; and Hanka had returned with the news that no one had seen her.

Gyuri sat in his place, pale and quiet.

"Perhaps she is in the apiary," suggested her brother, "or perhaps" (here he hesitated a minute, not knowing how to continue), "perhaps something unpleasant has taken place between you?"

Gyuri looked up surprised.

"Nothing has taken place between us," he said coldly.

"Then, Hanka, run across to the new house and look in the apiary. Please excuse her, gentlemen, she is such a child still, and follows her own whims. She is probably chasing a butterfly. Take some more wine, Mr. Sztolarik."

He was trying to reassure himself, not his guests, as he sat there listening to every sound, paying scant attention to the conversation, and giving many wrong answers.

Sztolarik asked if the bad weather this year had made much difference to the harvest.

"One or two," answered the priest.

"Have you any other brothers or sisters?"

"I don't know."

His answers showed the perturbed state of his mind, and it was with difficulty he kept his seat at table. At length the old lawyer said:

"Perhaps it would be better if your reverence were to go and look for Miss Veronica yourself; and I should be glad if you would send word to my coachman that I wish to start as soon as possible, for it is a long drive to Besztercebanya."

The priest seized the opportunity, and begging Madame Krisbay to excuse him, hurried away, for he found Veronica's absence very strange, and was beginning to get anxious. So, Madame Krisbay having retired, the two gentlemen were left alone, and a painful silence ensued. Gyuri was gazing with melancholy eyes at the canary, which was also silent now.

"You had better order your carriage, too," said Sztolarik, breaking the silence at last. "We could leave at the same time."

Gyuri murmured some unintelligible answer, and shook his head.

"But you will have to leave soon, for our part here is played out."

"I tell you it is impossible."

"Why?"

"Don't you see that Veronica is lost?"

"What does that matter to you? The umbrella handle is lost too."

Gyuri made an impatient gesture.

"What do I care about the umbrella?"

"So it is the girl you want? You told me a different tale before dinner."

Gyuri turned round.

"I did not know then."

"And now you know?"

"Yes, now I know," he answered shortly.

"And may I ask," said Sztolarik, "when did Amor light this flaming fire? for you did not seem to take much interest in the girl before her disappearance."

"And yet it is causing me at the present moment all the tortures of hell. Believe me, my dear guardian, the loss of my inheritance seems to me a trifle beside the loss of Veronica."

Sztolarik was impressed by the apparent sincerity of Gyuri's sorrow.

"That's quite another thing," he said. "If that is how you feel I will stay here with you. Let us go and look for the girl ourselves, and find out what she thinks on the subject."

When they went out, they found great confusion reigning in the courtyard, but Mrs. Adamecz was loudest in her lamentations.

"I knew this would be the end of it. A legend should never be tampered with by a mortal's hand, or it will fall to pieces. Oh, our dear young lady! She was God's bride, and they wanted to make her the bride of a mortal, so God has taken her to Himself."

Sztolarik sprang toward her, and caught hold of her hand.

"What is that you say? Have you heard anything?"

"Gundros, the cowherd, has just told us that he saw our young lady this morning running straight toward the Bjela Voda, across the meadows, and her eyes were red, as though she had been crying. There is only one conclusion to be drawn from that."

A lot of women and children were gathered round the kitchen door, and one of them had also seen Veronica earlier than Gundros had.

"Did she look sad?" asked Gyuri.

"She was crying."

"Oh dear!" exclaimed Gyuri despairingly.

"We will look for her," Sztolarik assured him.

"Where?"

"Out in the meadows or in the village, for it is certain she must be somewhere about, and we shall soon know where."

"That will not be so easy," sighed Gyuri, "for we have no glass to show us things, as they have in fairy-tales."

"I'll have the whole village round us in a few minutes."

Gyuri shook his head doubtfully. Had Sztolarik gone mad to think he could call all the people together from the fields, from the woods, from everywhere round about? But the old lawyer was as good as his word. Veronica must be found at any cost.

"Where is his reverence?" he asked of the bystanders.

"He has gone to the pond where the hemp is soaked, to see if the young lady has fallen in there."

"Where is the bell-ringer?"

"Here I am, sir."

"Go up at once into the tower, and ring the big bell."

"But there is no fire!"

"That does not matter. If I order it to be done, you must do it. Do you know me?"

Of course he knew Mr. Sztolarik, who had often been to Glogova since he had been made President of the Courts. So off ran Pal Kvapka, and in a few minutes the big fire-bell was tolling. There was no wind, and the sound was carried for miles around over the meadows, into the woods, over the mountains, and soon the people came running up from every side. It was astonishing how soon the villagers were assembled round the Presbytery. Those who saw it will never see its like again, until the Archangel Gabriel sounds his trumpet at the last day.

Sztolarik gazed placidly at the crowd assembled around him.

"Now," he said, "I have only to stand up in their midst and ask them if any of them have seen Veronica. But it will be quite unnecessary, for Veronica herself will soon be here. Look out of the window," he called up to the bell-ringer, "and tell me if you can see the young lady."

"Yes, I can see her, she is running through the Srankos' maize-field."

"She lives!" exclaimed Gyuri ecstatically, but his joy was soon at an end, for he thought: "If there is nothing the matter with her she must have run away from me."

And he began to wonder if it would not have been better if she were dead, for then he could have believed she loved him, and could have loved her and sorrowed for her.

The bell-ringer still went on tolling the bell, so Sztolarik called up to him:

"Stop tolling, you fool, can't you? Show us which way the Srankos' maize-field lies."

The bell-ringer pointed to the right.

"You run on in front, Gyuri, and try and get out of her what is the matter with her."

But Gyuri was already gone, through the priest's garden, across Magat's clover-field, and his heart began to beat, for from there he could see Veronica in her green dress, without a hat, only a little red silk shawl round her shoulders. Across Szlavik's corn-field, then into Gongoly's meadow, and they were face to face.

The girl drew a sobbing breath when she saw him, and began to tremble violently.

"Where is the fire?" she asked.

"Don't be frightened, there is no fire. My guardian had the bell rung so as to make you return home. Why did you run away?"

The girl turned pale, and bit her lip.

"It is enough if I know the reason," she said in a low voice. "Please leave me alone."

And she turned round as though to return to the woods.

"Veronica, for heaven's sake don't torture me; what have I done?"

The girl looked at him coldly, her eyes were like two bits of ice.

"Leave me alone," she said, "what do you want with me?"

The young man caught hold of her hand, and Veronica did her best to free herself from his grasp, but he would not let go her hand till he had forced a ring on to her finger.

"That is what I want," he said.

"That is what you want, is it?" laughed the girl bitterly. "And this is what I want!" And she tore off the ring and threw it away, across the meadow, into the grass. Poor Gyuri fell back a few steps.

"Oh!" he exclaimed, "why did you do it? Why?"

"Do not try to deceive me any longer, Mr. Wibra. You should not put a ring on my finger, but on the umbrella, for that is what you really want to marry."

Gyuri began to understand what had taken place.

"Good heavens! You listened to our conversation!"

"Yes, I know all!" said Veronica, blushing slightly. "It is no good your denying it."

"I don't wish to deny anything. But listen to me, please."

They walked quietly through the meadow, Gyuri talking, the girl listening, while the thousands of insects which peopled the fields flew away before their feet. Gyuri related the story of his life, and of his father's, of the supposed inheritance, of his search for it, and how he had gathered the threads together till they led him to Babaszek. The girl listened to him, first with reproach in her eyes, then as judge, trying to find out the truth, and as the story began to interest her more and more, she became quite excited. Now she was neither plaintiff nor judge, only an interested listener, surprised that the threads led nearer and nearer to herself. Now Gyuri is speaking of Mrs. Muencz's son, now Moricz is telling his story, which shows that the umbrella must be in Glogova. Then the forester's wife tells the tale of St. Peter's bringing the umbrella to the orphan child. A few more words and the story was complete.

Veronica knew all, and her eyes were swimming in tears.

"Oh, dear, how dreadful! Mrs. Adamecz burned the handle!"

"God bless her for it!" said Gyuri brightly, seeing the girl's depression, "for now at least I can prove to you that I love you for yourself alone."

Veronica had taken off the small red shawl and was swinging it in her hand. Suddenly she caught hold of Gyuri's arm, and smiled at him through her tears.

"Do you really mean that you still want to marry me?"

"Of course. What do you say to it?"

"I say that ..." She ceased speaking, for there was a queer feeling in her throat.

"Well?"

"That you are very volatile, and ..."

"And?"

"And that ... Let us run back and look for my ring."

With that she turned, and ran as fast as she could to the part of the meadow in which they had been standing when she threw the ring away. Gyuri could hardly keep up with her.

They looked for the ring a long time, but it was not to be found. And soon Father Janos appeared on the scene.

"I say, Gyuri, don't say anything about the umbrella to my brother."

"No, my darling, I will never mention it."

His reverence gave Veronica a good scolding.

"You naughty girl! Is that the way to behave? How you frightened us! Of course you were chasing a butterfly?"

"No, I was running away from one, but it caught me."

"What, the butterfly?"

"Yes, that ugly, big butterfly standing beside you."

His reverence understood as much as he was meant to, and set to work, too, to look for the ring. But they might have looked for it till Doomsday if Mr. Gongoly had not passed that way. Veronica had quite despaired of finding the ring.

"Well, well, my dear," said the nabob of Glogova, shaking back his long gray hair, "never mind, trust in Gongoly, he will find it for you. There is only one way to do it, so in an hour's time they will be making hay in this field."

* * * * *

Though the grass was not two inches high (it had only been cut a fortnight before), Mr. Gongoly sent his men there to mow it, with the result that next day the ring was safely resting on Veronica's finger. And for years the people spoke of the wonderful fact that in that year Mr. Gongoly's meadow gave two crops of hay, and it was always mentioned if any one spoke disparagingly of the Glogova fields.

What more am I to say? I think I have told my story conscientiously. All the same there are some things that will never be known for certain; for instance, what really became of Pal Gregorics' fortune, for there is no sign of it to this day. Was the supposed receipt in the handle of the umbrella or not? No one will ever know, not even little Matyko, who drank the water with three sparks in it. No king drinks such precious liquid as he did--if the story be true.

The legend of the holy umbrella is still believed in in those parts. Mr. Sztolarik, who was fond of a gossip, certainly told his version of the story, how old Muencz the Jew had made a present to Christianity of a holy relic, and so on; but the old belief was strongly rooted, and he was only laughed at when he told his tale. And after all, there was something mystic and strange in the whole affair, and the umbrella had brought worldly goods to every one, Gyuri included, for it had given him the dearest little wife in the world. They were married very soon and never had such a wedding taken place in Glogova before. According to Veronica's special wish, every one who had been at the Mravucsans' supper was invited to the wedding, for she wanted all those who had been present at their first meeting to take part in their happiness. There were a lot of guests from Besztercebanya too, among them the mother of the bridegroom, in a black silk dress, the President of the Courts, the mayor, and lots of others. Then there were the Urszinyis from Kopanyica, two young ladies from Lehota in pink dresses, and Mrs. Muencz from Babaszek, with lovely golden earrings on.

There were so many different kinds of conveyances in Glogova that day, it would have taken a week to look at them all.

Dear me, what a lovely procession it was too; the peasants stood and gazed open-mouthed at all the people in their beautiful dresses, but most of all at the bride, who walked at the head of the procession in a lovely white dress with a long veil and a wreath of orange-blossoms. Oh, how pretty she was!

But the bridegroom was splendid too, in the same kind of dress in which the king has his portrait painted sometimes. His sword, in a velvet sheath mounted in gold, clattered on the pavement as he walked up the church.

They stood in a semicircle round the altar, each lady with a nosegay of flowers in her hand, and perfumed to such an extent that the church smelled like a perfumer's shop.

It was a little cool in the church, and the young ladies from Lehota were seen to shiver now and then in their thin pink dresses; but everything went off very well.

The bridegroom spoke his "yes" in a loud, firm voice, the walls seemed to re-echo it, but the bride spoke it almost in a whisper, it sounded like the buzzing of a fly.

Poor child! She got so nervous toward the end of the ceremony that she began to cry. Then she looked for her handkerchief, but was there ever a pocket in a wedding dress? She could not find it, so some one from behind offered her one, then turned and said:

"Button up your coat, Wladin!"

THE END.

Transcriber's Note: The following typographical errors and spelling inconsistencies present in the original edition have been corrected.

In the Table of Contents, "MARIA CZOBOR'S ROSE" was changed to "MARIA CZOBOR'S ROSE".

In the Introduction, "strong satrical bent" was changed to "strong satirical bent".

In Part II, Chapter I, "Believe me, Rosalia" was changed to "Believe me, Rosalia", and a missing quotation mark was added after "something in the writing business".

In Part II, Chapter III, "PAL GREGORICS'S DEATH AND WILL" was changed to "PAL GREGORICS'S DEATH AND WILL".

In Part II, Chapter IV, "appeared at Gaspar's house" was changed to "appeared at Gaspar's house".

In Part III, Chapter II, "OUR ROSALIA" was changed to "OUR ROSALIA".

In Part III, Chapter IV, an extraneous quotation mark was removed after "threatened with damage by hail!"

At the head of Part IV, "Intellectual Society in Babaszek" was changed to "Intellectual Society in Babaszek".

In Part IV, Chapter I, "THE SUPPER AT THE MRAVUCSANS'" was changed to "THE SUPPER AT THE MRAVUCSANS'", and a missing parenthesis was added after "Stay in your parish, Rafanidesz".

In Part IV, Chapter II, extraneous quotation marks were removed after "seize hold of it!" and "a small pot of jam in too?"

In Part V, Chapter II, "Visztula, the old watch-dog" was changed to "Vistula, the old watch-dog".