d discovered the young gentleman, and that nothing was the matter
with him; on the contrary, he was in excellent hands, under the care
of a beautiful lady, who would not let him go until he had entirely
recovered from the fatigue occasioned by his ride--meanwhile, she
hoped that his worthy parents would come and be her guests until the
young gentleman was thoroughly restored.

At this news, Aunt Zsuzsi suddenly came to herself, rose from bed, and
ordered her carriage; and without even waiting for breakfast, thanked
her host for all his kindness, hurried her husband and little Peterke,
with tied-up jaws, into the conveyance, and desired the coachman to
drive for life and death to S----. The lad who had brought the message
was seated beside the coachman as a guide, having forgotten the lady's
name on his way back, but hoped to be able to find the house again.

Uncle Gabor shook hands cordially with Menyhert, who was already in
the coach, exclaiming gaily: "But for all this our process must not
fall to the ground--_liquidum est debitum_; and if it cannot be
arranged otherwise, we must enforce the execution."

Menyhert laughed heartily, understanding an allusion to the
long-promised marriage.

The whole household accompanied the carriage to the road, where they
once more parted, and the horses set off as fast as they were able.

Uncle Gabor then returned to the house with his guests; Linka was
evidently out of spirits that morning, while Siza could scarcely
contain her joy on seeing the Gulyasis set off.

"Miss Lina's sunny countenance is clouded to-day," said the poet in a
theatrical tone.

Lina, without condescending a reply, turned to Karely, with whom she
began to converse, and they entered the house together.

Kalman was thunderstruck. "Why is Miss Linka so ungracious to-day?" he
asked Sizike, who still remained out.

"Oh! did you not hear Mr. Menyhert Gulyasi threaten her father with an
execution?"

"Who? the old gentleman?" asked Kalman, much shocked.

Siza had spoken carelessly, without an idea of being believed; but
Kalman's look did not escape her quick eye--for at twelve years old
she had more sharpness than most people have at forty. Without
rectifying the mistake, she answered gravely: "Yes, certainly, old
Berkessy; but you must not speak of it to anybody."

"Impossible!" cried Kalman, in great agitation; "he is considered a
very rich man."

"Ah! there are many considered rich who are not really