rought a richer dowry to a bridegroom's home, than you have to ours.
God bless you for it."

And even Lorand did not know how much that hand which pressed his so
gently had done for him.

It is the fate of such deeds to succeed and remain obscure.

"Let the children spend their happy honeymoon in the country," was the
opinion of the elder lady. "They must grow accustomed to being their own
masters, too."

But the idea met with the most strenuous opposition from Desiderius'
mother and Fanny. The mother's prayers were so beautiful, the bride so
irresistible, that the other two, the grandmother and Lorand, finally
allowed themselves to be persuaded, and agreed that the mother should
stay with Desiderius.

"But we two must leave," whispered grandmother to Lorand.

She had already noticed that Lorand's face was not fit to be present in
that peaceful life.

His gaiety was only for others: a grandmother's eyes could not be
deceived.

While the others were engaged with their own happiness, the old lady
took Lorand's hand and, without a word of "whither," they went down
together to the garden, to the stream flowing beside the garden: to the
melancholy house built on the bank of the stream.

Ten years had passed and the creeper had again crawled over the crypt
door: the green leaves covered the motto. The two juniper trees had
bowed their green branches together over the cupola.

They stayed there, her head leaning on his bosom.

How much they must have said to one another, tacitly, without a single
word! How they must have understood each other's unspoken thoughts!

Deep silence reigned around: but within, inside the closed, rusted,
creeper-covered door, it seemed as if someone beckoned with invisible
finger, saying to the elder boy, "one great debt is not yet paid."

One hour later they returned to the house, where they were welcomed by
boisterous voices of noisy gladness--master and servant were all merry
and rejoicing.

"I must hasten on my way," said Lorand to his mother.

"Whither?"

"Back to Lankadomb."

"You will bring me a new joy."

"Yes, a new joy for you, mother,--and for you, too," he said pressing
his grandmother's hand.

She understood what that handclasp meant.

The murderer lived still.--The account was not yet balanced! Lorand
kissed his happy relations. The old lady accompanied him to the
carriage, where she kissed his forehead.

"Go."

And in that kiss there was the weight of a bl