heels of the other carriage now, but Swithin, hunched in the cloak, did
not try to see what was in front of him. To the bottom of his soul he
resented the Hungarian's gratitude. He remarked at last, with wasted
irony:

"You're in a hurry, it seems!"

"If we had wings," Boleskey answered, "we would use them."

"Wings!" muttered Swithin thickly; "legs are good enough for me."

X

Arrived at the inn where they were to pass the night, Swithin waited,
hoping to get into the house without a "scene," but when at last he
alighted the girls were in the doorway, and Margit greeted him with an
admiring murmur, in which, however, he seemed to detect irony. Rozsi,
pale and tremulous, with a half-scared look, gave him her hand, and,
quickly withdrawing it, shrank behind her sister. When they had gone up
to their room Swithin sought Boleskey. His spirits had risen remarkably.
"Tell the landlord to get us supper," he said; "we'll crack a bottle to
our luck." He hurried on the landlord's preparations. The window of the
room faced a wood, so near that he could almost touch the trees. The
scent from the pines blew in on him. He turned away from that scented
darkness, and began to draw the corks of winebottles. The sound seemed
to conjure up Boleskey. He came in, splashed all over, smelling slightly
of stables; soon after, Margit appeared, fresh and serene, but Rozsi did
not come.

"Where is your sister?" Swithin said. Rozsi, it seemed, was tired. "It
will do her good to eat," said Swithin. And Boleskey, murmuring, "She
must drink to our country," went out to summon her, Margit followed him,
while Swithin cut up a chicken. They came back without her. She had "a
megrim of the spirit."

Swithin's face fell. "Look here!" he said, "I'll go and try. Don't wait
for me."

"Yes," answered Boleskey, sinking mournfully into a chair; "try,
brother, try-by all means, try."

Swithin walked down the corridor with an odd, sweet, sinking sensation
in his chest; and tapped on Rozsi's door. In a minute, she peeped forth,
with her hair loose, and wondering eyes.

"Rozsi," he stammered, "what makes you afraid of me, now?"

She stared at him, but did not answer.

"Why won't you come?"

Still she did not speak, but suddenly stretched out to him her bare arm.
Swithin pressed his face to it. With a shiver, she whispered above him,
"I will come," and gently shut the door.

Swithin stealthily retraced his steps, and paused a minute outside