ear her; you can love her just as well nine miles off!"

"But that won't do, uncle. I don't want to love Esztike from such a
distance. It was far enough between our two roofs; but if she has no
objection, and no peculiar animosity to me--here, in the wolf's pit,
with all solemnity, I demand her dear little hand, and if Mrs. Debora
is to go with her, I will take her too."

"Take the tartar! why, she is my stepmother! You don't want to be my
son and my father at once, do you? But I'll tell you what, nephew, you
are still a child, and, what's more, you have nothing to break into
your milk."

"Very true, uncle, nor the milk to break anything into; but the
Almighty is rich, and He will assist us."

"Heaven does not make banknotes for anybody," said the old man,
holding his pipe in the palm of his hand; "and you need not expect
roasted sparrows to fly into your mouth, though you hold it open till
doomsday!"

"Well, but what is not may yet be; in the beginning there was nothing,
as the Bible tells us. I will go to Pesth, finish my studies, and be a
_tekintetes ur_[56] and advocate."

[Footnote 56: _Tekintetes ur_, respectable sir--a title.]

"A starving candidate!" interrupted my uncle; "it would have been
better if you had been a priest; your father always wished it, honest
man! but you were an obstinate rascal all your life. You might have
been a chaplain now, and the deuce would not have brought us here; but
I've said my word, and I'll make two out of it. Hark ye! the elections
are approaching, and you may profit by them if you like; we will join
the national meeting, and see what can be made of you."

"And then Esztike will be mine?"

"Storms of Karpath! can you think of nothing but Esztike?"

"Uncle, they may make a lord-lieutenant of me if they like, only let
me have Esztike."

"When you get as far as that I should not care, hang you! but one
syllable does not cross your lips, nor do you approach my house before
the elections, or, by the wars of Attila! nothing shall come of it."

I was too happy not to promise anything, and we ended with a hearty
embrace, and my uncle saying, "Give me a light, my son,"--a peculiar
mark of favour on his part, for he always lighted his own pipe.

After this, I laid the old man's head on my breast, and he slept
soundly, and snored as loud as if he were blowing a bassoon with each
nostril. It was impossible for me to sleep--the very pit trembled with
the sounds; so I lay awa