eyes entreatingly
on that ring which was on one of her fingers.

Melanie understood the inquiry which had been so warmly expressed in
that eloquent look.

"You ask me, do you not, whether I have not some even more awful
secret?"

Lorand tacitly answered in the affirmative.

Melanie drew the ring off her finger and held it up in her hand.

"It is true--but it is for me no longer a living secret. I am already
dead to the person to whom this secret once bound me. When he asked my
hand, I was still rich, my father was a man of powerful influence. Now I
am poor, an orphan and alone. Such rings are usually forgotten."

At that moment the ring fell out of her hand and missing the bridge
dropped into the water, disappearing among the leaves of the
water-lilies.

"Shall I get it out?" inquired Lorand.

Melanie gazed at him, as if in reverie, and said:

"Leave it there...."

Lorand, beside himself with happiness, pressed to his lips the beautiful
hand left in his possession, and showered hot kisses, first on the
hand, then on its owner. From the blossoming trees flowers fluttered
down upon their heads, and they returned with wreathed brows like bride
and bridegroom.

Lorand spoke that day with Topandy, asking him whether a long time would
be required to build the steward's house, which had so long been
planned.

"Oho!" said Topandy, smiling, "I understand. It may so happen that the
steward will marry, and then he must have a separate lodging where he
may take his wife. It will be ready in three weeks."

Lorand was quite happy.

He saw his love reciprocated, and his life freed from its dark horror.

Melanie had not merely convinced him that in him she recognized Lorand
Aronffy no more, but also calmed him by the assurance that everyone
believed the Lorand Aronffy of yore to be long dead and done for: no one
cared about him any longer; his brother had taken his property, with the
one reservation that he always sent him secretly a due portion of the
income. Besides that one person, no one knew anything. And he would be
silent for ever, when he knew that upon his further silence depended his
brother's life.

Love had stolen the steely strength of Lorand's mind away.

He had become quite reconciled to the idea that to keep an engagement,
which bound anyone to violate the laws of God, of man, and of nature,
was mere folly.

Who could accuse him to his face if he did not keep it? Who could
recognize him again?