to it at all, and don't let the Pater stay too long and
waste the candle."

"I promise, mother," said Elsa, with a smile; "good-night!"

CHAPTER IX

"Then, as now, may God protect you."

The bunda was very heavy. Elsa dragged it over her knee, and sat down on
a low stool in the open doorway. She had pulled the table a little
closer, and on it were her scissors, needles and cotton, as well as the
box of matches and the candle which she would be allowed to light
presently when Pater Bonifacius came.

The moth certainly had caused many ravages in the sheepskin cloak--there
were tiny holes everywhere, and the fur when you touched it came out in
handfuls. But as the fur would be turned inwards, that wouldn't matter
so much. The bunda was quite wearable: there was just a bad tear in the
leather close to the pocket, which might show and which must be mended.

Elsa threaded her needle, and began to hum her favourite song under her
breath:

"Nincsen annyi tenger csillag az egen
Mint a hanyszor vagy eszembe te nekem."

"There are not so many myriads of stars in the sky as
the number of times that my thoughts fly to thee!"

She was determined not to think any more of the past. In a few hours now
that chapter in her life would be closed, and it was useless and wicked
to be always thinking of the "might-have-been." Rather did she set
herself resolutely to think of the future, of that part of it, at any
rate, which was bright. There would be her mother installed in that
comfortable house on the Kender Road, and with a nice bit of land and
garden round in which to grow vegetables and keep some poultry. There
would be her three cows and the pigs which Bela was giving her, and
which he would graze on his own land.

Above all, there would be the comfortable bed and armchair for the sick
man, and the little maid to wait upon him.

There was so much, so much to be thankful for! And since God chose to
take Andor away, what else was there to live for, save to see her mother
and father contented?

The light was going fast. Elsa had made a splendid job of that one
pocket. The other, too, wanted a stitch. It was very badly torn--if only
the feeble light would hold out another ten minutes . . . that hole,
too, would be securely mended.

With the splendid disregard of youth for its most precious gift, Elsa
strained her eyes to thread her needle once more.

She tackled the second pocket of the shabby bunda