ot_ sent him. Oh! he was quite,
quite sure that he had not sent Bela to his death. He had merely forborn
to warn him--and surely there could be no sin in that.

He might have told Bela that Leopold Hirsch--half mad with jealousy--was
outside on the watch with a hunting-knife in his pocket and murder in
his soul. Andor might have told Bela this and he had remained silent.
Was that a sin? considering what a brute the man was, how his action
that night was a deadly insult put upon Elsa, and how he would in the
future have bullied and browbeaten Elsa and made her life a misery--a
veritable hell upon earth.

Andor had thought the problem out; he had weighed it in his mind and he
was satisfied that he had not really committed a sin. Of course he ought
before now to have laid the whole case before Pater Bonifacius, and the
Pater would have told him just what God's view would be of the whole
affair.

The fact that Andor had not thought of going to confession showed that
he was not quite sure what God--as represented by Pater
Bonifacius--would think of it all; but he meant to go by and by and
conclude a permanent and fulsome peace treaty with his conscience.

In the meanwhile, even though the burden of remorse should at times in
the future weigh upon his soul and perhaps spoil a little of his
happiness, well! he would have to put up with it, and that was
all!--Elsa was happy--one sight of her radiant little face was enough
for any fool to see that an infinite sense of relief had descended into
her soul. Elsa was happy--freed from the brute who would have made her
wretched for the rest of her life; and surely the good God, who could
read the secret motives which lay in a fellow's heart, would not be hard
on Andor for what he had done--or left undone--for Elsa's sake.

CHAPTER XXX

"Kyrie eleison."

But the daily routine of everyday life went on at Marosfalva just as it
had done before the double tragedy of St. Michael's E'en had darkened
the pages of its simple history.

The maize had all been gathered in--ploughing had begun--my lord and his
guests were shooting in the stubble. The first torrential rain had
fallen and the waters of the Maros had begun to swell.

Gossip about Eros Bela's terrible end and Leopold Hirsch's suicide had
not by any means been exhausted, but it was supplemented now by talk of
Lakatos Pal's wealth. The old man had been ailing for some time. His
nephew Andor's return had certainly chee