u
do then?"

"Then?" said Lorand reflectively: after a long pause he added: "Poor
mother has had so much sorrow on my account."

"I know that."

"She has pardoned me all."

"She loves you better than her other son."

"And I love her better than I loved my father."

"That is a hard saying."

"But if she said 'You must give up forever either this girl or me,' I
would answer her, and my heart would break, 'Mother, tear me from your
heart, but I shall go with my wife.'"

Topandy offered his hand to Lorand.

"That was well said."

"But I have no anxiety about it. Mountebank pride never found a place in
our family: we have sought for happiness, not for vain connections, and
Czipra belongs to those girls whom women love even better than men. I
have a good friend at home, my brother, and my dear sister-in-law will
use her influence in my favor."

"And you have an advocate elsewhere, in one who, despite all his
godlessness, has a man's feelings, and will say: 'The girl has no name;
here is mine, let her take that.'"

Topandy did not try to prevent Lorand from kissing his hand.

* * * * *

Poor Czipra! Why did she not hear this?

CHAPTER XXVII

WHEN THE NIGHTINGALE SINGS

The night following upon this day was a sleepless one for Czipra.

Every door of the castle was already closed: it was Lorand's custom to
look for himself and see that the bolts were firmly fastened. Then he
would knock at Czipra's door and bid her good-night; Czipra reciprocated
the good wish, and Lorand turned into his room. The last creaking door
was silent.

"Good night! Good night! But who gives the good night?"

Every day Czipra felt more strongly what an interminable void can exist
in a heart which lacks--God.

If it sorrows, to whom shall it complain?--if it has aspirations to whom
can it pray? if terrors threaten it, to whom shall it appeal for help
and courage? if in despair, from whom shall it ask hope?

When the heavy beating of her heart prevents a poor girl from closing
her eyes, she tosses sleeplessly where she lies, agonised with unknown
suspicions, and there is no one before her mind, from whom she can ask,
"Lord, is this a presentiment of my approaching death, or my approaching
health? What annoys, what terrifies, what allures, what fills my heart
with a sweet thrill? Oh, Lord, be with me."

The poor neglected girl only felt this, but could not express it.

She knelt on her