He, his only customer, would not have come to his rescue at a time of his greatest need. All at once letters began to come to him by mail containing ten, twenty, or even fifty gulden. Usually it was the letter of some old customer who informed him that having become well-to-do he now wished, with expressions of great gratitude, to repay to Master Filcsik some old debt. There are, after all, many honest men living in this world.

For a time he believed that if the debtors did not owe him anything, it must have been to his father, whose name too was Steve. The only thing that was remarkable was, how could his father have given so much away on credit?

As soon as his suspicion was aroused, so soon did he solve the riddle. One by one he returned the money letters to the Judge. How does he dare to send presents to Steve Filcsik? Does not the Judge know that his grandmother is descended from the famous Becsky family and the like?

The money letters ceased to come thereafter but there came many sad tidings. Beautiful Therese Filcsik had become mortally ill. All wherein she had heretofore found pleasure she now rejected; pomp and luxury, the fine various and delicious meats she turned away from; refused her medicines and expressed a wish to see her father. Poor Therese! she was after all not such a bad girl!

And the wish of Therese was so pressing that in the end the Judge himself was bound to call for old Filcsik. "Well, old man, now you come with me, you must whether you want to or not; don't deny this request of your very sick daughter—"

"I have no daughter!"

"You come with me! that is settled!"

"It cannot be: I beg of you respectfully, do not press me; it cannot be, I have very urgent work."

"Do please, come with me for my sake!" said the Judge amicably.

Filcsik sighed. Probably this was the first occasion in all his life that he had done so.

"You refuse to come? You discard your only child?"

"Yes, sir, if you please!"

"You! the outcast of society?"

"Well, sir, that is not impossible, such a plain common old bootmaker like myself is capable of doing anything."

The honorable young Justice now began to use sweet words of persuasion and promise, but they all rebounded from the marble heart just as did the threatening words.

"Why don't your grace," he said, "have me arrested and put me in irons? Then I will have to go along wherever you may wish to take me."

After all, the mighty judge who ruled over all the county, was compelled to return without the bootmaker.

But the judge had not in vain a hoary veteran Michael Suska, for his body servant, who concocted a shrewd plan to attain the end desired.

"Gracious Sir! I know this man Filcsik. He would run after us just as a little pig will run after a sack from which corn is dropping, if—"

"Well, what? speak up!"

"If we would steal his fur cloak. His life and death depend upon that cloak. He is a very peculiar man—"

"Well, then, see to it that his cloak is stolen away!"

The hoary veteran could not be trusted with a better job. Ever since the revolution he had no more important task on hand. Oh, well, in those days—but wherefore speak of his deeds then? No one would believe him now.

In the meantime the sick lady was restless on her couch amidst silken pillows, shuddering whenever she heard the noise of approaching wheels. She half leaned on her arms listening, burying her emaciated hands in her long black hair which flowed down over her white night gown.

She is provided with all that her longing can desire, yet she is the poorest being in the world, for she lacks health, and something else—love.

That love that burned within her for husband is naught to the love that warms the heart, the filial love for parents, and she never felt as cold as now.