my dear," he rejoined dryly, "for your sake--as I am not a
patient man; let me tell you that. Come, give me a kiss and run back to
your mother. I can't bear to have a woman snivelling near me like that."

He drew her toward him with that rough, perfunctory gesture which
betokened the master rather than the lover. Then with one hand he raised
her chin up and brought her face quite close to his. Even then he could
not see her clearly because of the heavy clouds in the sky. But the air
seemed suddenly to have become absolutely still, not a breath of wind
stirred the leaves of the acacia trees, and all those soft sighings and
mysterious whisperings which make the plain always appear so full of
life were for the moment hushed. Only from far away came the murmur of
the sluggish waters of the Maros, and from its shores the call of a
heron to its mate. Elsa made vigorous efforts to swallow her tears. The
exquisite quietude of Nature, that call of the heron, the scent of dying
flowers which lingered in the autumn air, made her feel more strongly
than she had ever felt before how beautiful life might have been.

Pater Bonifacius' words rang in her ears: "You are going to be happy in
God's way, my child, which may not be your way, but must be an
infinitely better one."

Well! For the moment Elsa didn't see how this was going to be done; she
did not see how she could ever be happy beside this tyrannical, arrogant
man who would be, and meant to be, her master rather than her mate.

Even now the searching look wherewith his one eye, with its sinister
expression, tried to read her very soul had in it more of pride of
possession, more of the appraiser of goods than the ardour of a
bridegroom. Bela cursed the darkness which prevented his reading now
every line of that pure young face which was held up to his; he longed
with all the passionate masterfulness of his temperament to know
exactly how much awe, how much deference, how much regard she felt for
him. Of love he did not think, nor did he care if it never came; but
this beautiful prize which had been coveted by so many was his at last,
and he meant to mould it and wield it in accordance with his pleasure.

But in spite of his callousness and his selfishness, the intense
womanliness of the girl stirred the softer emotions of his heart; there
was so much freshness in her, so much beauty and so much girlishness
that just for one brief second a wave, almost of tenderness, swept over