nto the house in the
Hungarian language, I should have been banished from it for ever; for,
if I remember rightly, they were romances and love tales, by Wieland
and Kotzebue. But they passed for good books; and Mistress Debora (the
worthy soul knew no other language than Magyar) would frequently
insist on my translating the salutary effusions, which of course I did
in as touching a style as possible, while the tears ran down the
furrows in her cheeks.

One day, after taking leave (I generally had an instinctive feeling as
to the time when my uncle would return), I was in the act of opening
the house door, when it was pushed towards me, and the next instant my
noble and honourable uncle, Gergely Sonkolyi, with pipe and
brass-headed cane, stood before me.

How to escape was my first impulse; but seeing this was impossible, my
next was to put a brave face on the matter.

"Well, nephew," said my uncle, twisting his moustache; "red,
stammering, out of breath--eh? So you visit here, do you?"

What could I answer? I was not fool enough to say I had come to visit
Esztike; and should I say I was visiting Mistress Debora--she may be
his wife, I thought, and then he will shoot me through the head!

"I know your errand," continued my uncle, pertinaciously holding the
handle of the door. "Storms and thunder! don't think to put your
fingers in my eyes! Ten thousand fiery devils! if ever you dare to
come within my door again, I swear by the woods of Karpath that I will
make leather belts of your skin!"

"Thank you, uncle," I replied, delighted to get off so easily, as,
once more commending me to the devil, he entered, and shut the door
behind him; while I heard his allegorical phrases--or, as an impartial
world would call them, his oaths--echoing wrathfully through the
house.

What was to be done? I found myself just where I had been before the
death of the cat.

I now considered it prudent to avoid the dogs.

From this day forward, I had very seldom an opportunity of seeing
Esztike, except across our gardens; and even then, I exposed myself to
the danger of being shot through the head, if my uncle should see me.

On one occasion Esztike gave me to understand by signs, that she dared
not approach nearer. I pointed to the attic windows, which my little
sweetheart understood at once; and from that day we frequently carried
on a pantomimic conversation from our attics. I often laugh when I
think how much we contrived to say,