Hetfalusy's.

"Oh, I'm to take myself off, eh!" cried the virago defiantly. "Am I not
standing then on my own ground? Is not this corner of the house whose
windows I am now rattling, built on the plot of ground belonging to my
forefathers? Is not this ground my own? Are not these very stones, these
very blades of grass on which I now trample, mine, mine, mine?"

"It may very easily be yours for ever, you wretched creature," said
another voice, the voice of the younger squire. "If you do not go away,
you shall die on the very spot."

The barrel of a gun flashed between the shutters, and the headsman's
wife could see that it was pointed straight at her heart.

Quickly she pulled the little girl towards her.

"Aim away, Szephalmi!" she cried. "I have even taken the trouble to
bring a light that you may see to aim straight."

And with that she snatched the candle from between the child's fingers,
and held it so that it lit up her face.

"Look now! A pretty child, ain't she? Those blue eyes, those soft lips
resemble someone you loved very much at one time, don't they? It would
be a shame, wouldn't it, to make this tender, slender shape a target for
bullets, wouldn't it?"

The barrel of the gun sank slowly down.

"How do you suppose now, Szephalmi," continued the virago, her face
radiant with infernal malice, "how do you suppose now that the
headsman's wife managed to get hold of this gentle cherub, who is as
much like her as an angel is to a devil?"

"Woman!" hissed someone from within, though whether it was the old man
or the young it was impossible to say.

Dame Zudar drew nearer, she now went right up to the window.

"You would like me to speak in a lower key, no doubt? Well, I may do
that. You see how close I am standing to you, you could touch my body
with the barrel of your musket. But you _won't_ touch me, I know, for
now it is I who am the destroyer."

And with that she laid her large, broad, muscular palm on the little
girl's tender shoulder.

"This child is now eight years old. When she was born her father cursed
her, her mother kicked her out, and her nurse confided her to a she-wolf
that she might either kill it or bring it up along with her own
whelps--which is much about the same thing. It is the foolish old story,
the old grey wolf carried off the brat and brought it up; the old
headsman nourished the innocent little girl, and defended her against
all the wild beasts of the forest. Do I make