that
(especially in novels) is a well-furnished drawing-room. If the girl is
very shy she runs out of the room; if not very shy she falls on her
knees and asks the blessing of her parents or guardian, as the case may
be. But how is one to kneel under a tree? These were the thoughts that
were troubling Madame Krisbay, not Veronica. She, on the contrary, was
thinking that one fine day she would return to this spot with her
sketch-book, and draw the old tree as a souvenir.

All this time the carriage was rolling along the dusty road. There was
no room for the coachman, so he had to follow on foot, and Gyuri took
the reins into his own hands, Veronica sitting on the box beside him. Oh
dear! she thought, what would they think of her in the village as they
drove through?

The road was better now, and they could drive faster, so Gyuri loosened
the reins, and began to think over the events that had taken place. Was
it a dream or not? No, it could not be, for there was Veronica sitting
near to him, and behind him Father Janos was talking to Madame Krisbay
in the language of the Gauls. No, it was simple truth, though it seemed
stranger than fiction. Who would have believed yesterday that before the
sun set twice he would find his inheritance, and a wife into the
bargain? Twenty-four hours ago he had not known of the existence of Miss
Veronica Belyi. Strange! And now he was trying to imagine what the world
had been like without her. It seemed impossible that he had not felt the
want of her yesterday. But the wheels were making such a noise, that he
found it difficult to collect his thoughts. Wonders had happened. One
legend, that of the umbrella, was done away with, but on its ruins
another had built itself up. Heaven and earth had combined to help him
to his inheritance. Heaven had sent a dream and earth a protector.

His heart swelled as he thought of it. Oh, if the girl next him only
knew to what a rich man she had promised her hand!

After passing the Kopanyicza Hills, which seem like a screen to the
entrance of the valley, Glogova, with its little white houses, lay
before them.

"We are nearly at home now," said Veronica.

"Where is the Presbytery?" asked Gyuri.

"At the end of the village."

"Tell me when to turn to the right or the left."

"Very well, Mr. Coachman! At present keep straight on."

A smell of lavender pervaded the street, and the tidy little gardens
were filled with all sorts of flowers. In front o