ge at the way he had
treated you all day. . . . His taking that key was a last insult put
upon you on the eve of your wedding day. . . . The thought of it got
into my blood like fire, when I saw his cruel leer and heard his sneers.
. . . Later on, I thought better of it . . . calmer thoughts had got
into my brain . . . reason, sober sense. . . . I had gone back to the
presbytery, and meant to go to bed--I went out, I swear it by God that
I went out prepared to warn him, to help him if I could. The whole
village was deserted, it was the hour of supper at the barn. I heard the
church clock strike the half-hour after ten. I worked my way round to
the back of Goldstein's house and in the yard I saw Bela lying--dead."

"And you might have raised a finger to save him at first . . . and you
didn't do it."

"Not at first . . . and after that it was too late. . . ."

"You have done a big, big wrong, Andor," she said slowly.

"Wrong?" he cried, whilst once more the old spirit of defiance fired
him--the burning love in him, the wrath at seeing her unhappy. "Wrong?
Because I did not prevent one miserable brute being put out of the way
of doing further harm? By the living God, Elsa, I do not believe that it
was wrong. I didn't send him to his death, I did not see or speak to
Leopold Hirsch, I merely let Fate or God Himself work His way with him.
I did not say a word to him that might have induced him to take that
key. He picked it up from the table, and every evil thought came into
his head then and there. He didn't even care about Klara and a silly,
swaggering flirtation with her, he only wanted to insult you, to shame
you, to show you that he was the master--and meant to have his way in
all things. . . . And this he did because--bar his pride in your
beauty--he really hated you and meant to treat you ill. He meant to harm
you, Elsa--my own dear dove . . . my angel from heaven . . . for whom I
would have died, and would die to-day, if my death could bring you
happiness. . . . I let him go and Leopold Hirsch killed him . . . if he
had lived, he would have made your life one long misery. . . . Was it my
fault that Leopold Hirsch killed him?--killed him at the moment when he
was trying to do you as great harm as he could? By God, Elsa, I swear
that I don't believe it was my fault . . . it was the will of God--God
would not punish me for not interfering with His will. . . . Why, it
wouldn't be justice, Elsa . . . it wouldn't be just