e wall,
her knees gave way under her and she lurched forward against the table.
She would have fallen had not Andor caught her and guided her to a
chair, whereon she sank half fainting, with eyes closed and cheeks and
lips the colour of ashes.

Just for the moment the wild thought flew through his mind that she had
been induced to drink by one of the men, but a closer look on her wan,
pale face and into those dilated eyes of hers convinced him that the
girl was in real and acute mental distress.

He went up to the table and poured out a mug of wine, which he held to
her lips. She drank eagerly, looking up at him the while with a
strangely pathetic, eagerly appealing gaze.

When he had taken the mug from her and replaced it on the table, he drew
a chair close to her and said as kindly as he could, for he did not feel
very well-disposed toward the girl who was the cause of much unhappiness
to Elsa:

"Now, Klara, you are going to tell me what is the matter with you."

But already she had recovered herself a little, and Lakatos Andor's
somewhat dictatorial tone grated upon her sensitive ear.

"There's nothing the matter with me," she retorted, with a return of her
habitual flippancy. "What should be the matter?"

"I don't know," he said dryly; "and, of course, if you tell me that it's
a private affair of your own and none of my business, why I'll be quite
satisfied, and not ask any more questions. But if it's anything to do
with Bela . . ."

"No, of course not," she broke in impatiently. "What should Bela have to
do with my affairs? Bela has been gone from here this hour past."

"And he is not coming back?" asked Andor searchingly.

"I trust not," she replied fervently, and the young man noticed that
the staring, terror-filled look once more crept into her eyes.

"Very well, then," he said, rising, "that is all I wanted to know. I am
sorry to have disturbed you. Good-night, Klara."

"Good-night," she murmured.

He turned to go, and already his hand was on the latch of the door when
an involuntary cry, like a desperate appeal, escaped her lips.

"Andor!"

"What is it?" he said, speaking over his shoulder.

He didn't like the girl: she had been offensive and insolent to Elsa,
the cause of Elsa's tears; but just now, when he turned back in answer
to that piteous call from her, she looked so forlorn, so pathetic, so
terrified that all the kindliness and chivalry which are inherent in the
true Magyar peasant