thoughts occupied him.

He sought the magistrate.

"My dear sir, when do you want to lock me up?"

"When you like, sir."

"Would you not take me to gaol immediately?"

"With pleasure, sir."

"How many years have they given me?"

"Only two."

"I expected more. Well, then I can take this letter myself into the
town."

"Will Mr. Aronffy remain here?"

"No. He will take his dead love home to the country. I have asked the
doctor to embalm her, and I have a lead casket which I prepared for
myself with the intention of continuing my opposition to the ordinance
of God within it: now I have no need of it. I will lend it to Czipra.
That is her dowry."

An hour later he went in search of Lorand, who was still guarding his
dead darling. The magistrate was there too.

"My dear sir," he said to the officer. "I am not going to the gaol now."

"Not yet?" inquired Daruszegi. "Very well."

"Not now, nor at any other time. A greater master has given me
orders--in a different direction."

They began to look at him in astonishment.

His face was much paler than usual: but still that good-humored irony
and light-hearted smile was there.

"Lorand, my boy, there will be two funerals here."

"Who is the second dead person?" asked Daruszegi.

"I am."

Then he drew from his breast his left hand which he had hitherto held
thrust in his coat.

"An hour ago I wrote a letter to your mother. As I was sealing it the
hot wax dripped onto my nail, and see how my hand has blackened since."

The tips of his left hand were blue and swollen.

"The doctor, quickly," cried Daruszegi to his servant.

"Never mind. It is already unnecessary," said Topandy, falling languidly
into an arm-chair. "In two hours it is over. I cannot live more than two
hours. In twenty minutes this swelling will reach my shoulder, and the
way from thence to the heart is short."

The doctor, who hastened to appear, confirmed Topandy's opinion.

"There is nothing to be done," he said.

Lorand, horror-stricken, hastened to take care of his uncle: the old
fellow embraced the neck of the youth kneeling beside him.

"You philosopher, you were right after all, you see. There is One who
takes thought for two-legged featherless animals too. If I had
known,--'Knock and it shall be opened unto you:' I should long have
knocked at the door and cried, 'O Lord, let me in!'"

Topandy would not allow himself to be undressed and put to bed.

"Draw my chair beside