once? When?"

"Soon,--in ten years."--I could scarce utter the words.

Both were horrified at my utterance.

"Desi, do you wish to play some joke upon us?"

"If it were only a joke? It is true: a very heavy truth! I promised
Lorand to tell neither mother nor grandmother, for ten years, where he
is living."

Grandmother seemed to understand it all: she hinted with a look to Fanny
to leave us alone: she thought that I did not wish to reveal it before
Fanny.

"Don't go Fanny," I said to her. "Even in your absence I cannot say more
than I have already said."

"Are you in your senses then?" grandmother sternly addressed me thinking
harsh words might do much with me. "Do you wish to play mysteries with
us: surely you don't think we shall betray him?"

"Desi," said mother, in that quiet, sweet voice of hers. "Be good."

So, they were deceived in me. I was no longer that good child, who could
be frightened by strong words, and tamed by a sweet tongue,--I had
become a hard, cruel unfeeling boy:--they could not force me to
confession.

"That I cannot tell you."

"Why not? Not even to us?" they asked both together.

"Why not? That I do not know myself. But not even to you can I tell it.
Lorand made me give him my word of honor, not to betray his
whereabouts--not to his mother and grandmother. He said he had a great
reason to ask this, and said any neglect of my promise would produce
great misfortune. I gave him my word, and that word I must keep."

Poor mother fell on her knees before me, embraced me, showered kisses
upon me, and begged me so to tell her where Lorand was. She called me
her dear "only" son: then burst into tears: and I,--could be so cruel as
to answer to her every word, "No--no--no."

I cannot describe this scene. I am incapable of reflecting thereupon. At
last mother fainted, grandmother cursed me, and I left the room, and
leaned against the door post.

During this indescribable scene the whole household hastened to nurse my
mother, who was suffering terrible pain; then they came to me one by
one, and tried in turn their powers of persuasion upon me. First of all
came Mother Fromm, to beg me very kindly to say that one word that would
cure my mother at once; then came Grandmother Fromm with awful threats:
then Father Fromm, who endeavored to persuade me with sage reasoning,
declaring that my honor would really be greatest if I should now break
my word!

It was all quite useless. Surely no one