the mug rattled against his teeth, his hand was trembling so that half
the contents were poured down on his clothes. He did not look again on
Klara, but having put the mug down, he passed his hand once or twice
across his forehead as if to chase away some of those horrible thoughts
which were still lurking in his brain.

Then he took his cigarette-case out of his pocket, selected a cigarette,
struck a match and lit it, still avoiding Klara's fixed and staring
gaze.

"I'll go and smoke this outside," he said quietly. "I can see both doors
from the corner. When you have found that back-door key you may go to
Elsa Kapus' wedding feast, but not before."

He took a final look round the room, and his eyes, which had once more
become dull and pale, rested with an infinite look of contempt upon the
two or three besotted drunkards who, throughout this scene, had done no
more than open and blink a sleepy eye.

"Shall I turn these louts out for you now?" he asked.

"No, no," she replied mechanically, "let them have their sleep. When
they wake they'll go away all right."

Just then the outer door was opened and Lakatos Andor's broad figure
appeared upon the threshold. Leopold Hirsch gave him a nod, and without
another look on Klara, he strode out into the night.

CHAPTER XXI

"Jealous, like a madman."

"I came to see if Bela was still here," said Andor, as soon as the door
had closed on Leopold Hirsch. "One or two chaps whom I met awhile ago
told me that he had not been seen in the barn this hour past, and that
there was a lot of talk about it. I thought that if he were here, I
could persuade you . . ."

He paused, and looked more keenly at the girl.

"What is it, Klara?" he asked; "you seem ill or upset . . ."

She closed her eyes once or twice like someone just waking out of a
dream, then she passed her hands over her forehead and over her hair.
She felt completely dazed and stupid, as if she had received a stunning
blow on the head, and while Andor talked she looked at him with staring
eyes, not understanding a word that he said.

"Yes--yes, Andor?" she said vaguely. "What can I do for you?"

"Nothing much, my good Klara," he replied; "it was only about Bela
. . ."

"Yes--about Bela," she stammered; "won't . . . won't you sit down?"

"Thank you, I will for a moment."

She moved forward in order to get him a chair, but she found that she
could not stand. The moment that she relinquished the prop of th