ela, people here are not satisfied about those proofs.
I, for one, never held with those who would not believe in Andor's
death; there are plenty of folk in the village--and Pater Bonifacius is
one of them--who swear that he will come home one of these days--perhaps
when Pali bacsi is dead. And then he would find himself the richest man
in the Commune," she added, not without a point of malice, "richer even
than you, my good Bela."

"Hold your tongue, you old fool!" broke in Bela savagely, as once more
the sinister leer which hovered round his sightless eye was turned
toward Elsa.

"Didn't I say that I, for one, never believed that rubbish?" retorted
Irma sullenly; "and haven't I preached to her about it these past two
years? But you needn't be afraid," she added, as she turned once more to
her stewing-pot, "she didn't hear what I said. When she talks or sings
to her father you might shoot off a cannon--she wouldn't hear it. You
may say what you like just now, Bela, she'll not listen."

"Oho!" said Bela, even as a curious expression of obstinacy, not unmixed
with cruelty, crept into his colourless face, "you seem to forget, Irma
neni, that the rest of Elsa's life will have to be spent in listening to
me. We'll soon see about that."

"Elsa!" he called peremptorily.

Then, as indeed the girl appeared not to hear, but went on softly
crooning and singing to the helpless invalid like a mother to its babe,
the young man worked himself up into a passion of fury. The veins in his
pale forehead and temples swelled up visibly, the glitter in his one eye
became more cruel and more menacing, finally he brought his clenched
fist once more crashing down upon the table, even while he rose to his
feet, as if to give fuller meaning to his future marital authority.

"Elsa!" he shouted once more, hoarsely. "Elsa, do you hear what I say?"

CHAPTER VI

"I don't wish to marry; not yet."

The girl thus roughly apostrophized turned slowly round. She seemed
neither hurt nor even surprised at the young man's exhibition of temper.
In her blue eyes there was a strange look--one which had lately been
habitual to her, but which neither her mother nor Bela were able to
interpret: it was a look which conveyed the thought of resignation or
indifference or both, but also one which was peculiarly lifeless, as of
a soul who had touched the cold hand of despair.

Far be it from me to seek complexity in so simple a soul as was that of
th