rk, going over
all the incidents that had taken place that day. He seemed to have lived
through years in the last few hours. What an age it seemed since he had
looked for the umbrella in Mrs. Muencz's shop! And it was found quite
unexpectedly. God had given it into the charge of an angel.

From the umbrella his thoughts flew to the "angel."

She was a nice little thing, he decided; not a bit unpleasant like other
girls of that age he knew, who were thoughtless, useless creatures.
Veronica was an exception. And she seemed to have taken to him too.

He passed again in revision all her words, her movements, and as he went
on, he found among the smiles, the softened voice, the unwatched
moments, certain signs of coldness here and there, as though she were
putting a restraint upon herself.

But he was so happy now, that he did not need the friendship of a silly
girl. He was a rich man now, a nabob beginning from to-day. He would
live like a prince henceforward, spend the winter in Budapest, or on the
Riviera, in Monaco, and the summer at Ostend; in fact, he would be a
grand gentleman, and not even look at poor priests' sisters. (How
tiresome it was, his thoughts would always return to Veronica.)

Sleep would not come, how could it be expected? One scheme after the
other passed before his mind's eye, like the butterflies in the Glogova
woods. And he chased them all in turn. Oh! if it were only daylight, and
he could move on. His watch was ticking on the table beside his bed; he
looked at it, the hands pointed to midnight. Impossible! It must be
later than that; his watch must be slow! Somewhere in the distance a
cock crew, as much as to say: "Your watch is quite right, Mr. Wibra." He
heard faint sounds of music proceeding from the "Frozen Sheep" in the
distance, and some one on his way home was singing a Slovak shepherd's
song.

Gyuri lighted a cigar, and sat down to smoke it and think things over.
How strangely the umbrella had been found--at least _he_ had not found
it yet, it was not yet in his possession, and when he came to look at
the facts, he found he was not much nearer to it than he had been. Until
now he had supposed it had been thrown away as a useless rag, and he had
had little hope of finding it. And now, what had happened? Things were
quite different to what they had imagined them; for as it turned out,
the umbrella was a treasure, a relic in a church. What was to be done
about it? What was he to say to t