class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[Pg 9]"/>Nothing does her any good; the voice of the man whom she loved is painful to her; it were better he were not walking at her side and would leave her to herself; the bed is hard; in vain it is made of silk and soft feathers, in vain do the servants fix it and repeatedly put it in order.

How well would it be if she could lie at home beneath the paternal roof, however poor that home, beside the capacious stove, and she could hear at the open window the voice of the evening bells of Majornok, and if her cold feet were covered with the famous fur cloak of her father.

Of this she spoke, of this she dreamed last night and behold—in the morning, fate had fulfilled her wish, when she awoke, over the beautiful red quilt, there lay spread out her old acquaintance the fur cloak.

And those roses and red tulips which render its collar so pretty, throw their shades over the deathly pale face of Therese. This last enjoyed pleasure is as sweet as long ago the first might have been.

Michael Suska redeemed his promise soon enough and he speculated well. When old Filcsik came home in the night time from the tavern of "The Linen Shirt" he found his house burglariously entered, and his fur cloak gone. The big nail was empty, bereft and bare of its ornament. It was then towards the end of October. The winter stood on the threshold of the season.

Filcsik roamed about in the village with lowering brows, his hat pulled down sullenly over his eyes. He did not drink; he uttered no word. His misfortune completely broke him down. He was afraid to look into the eyes of men, because he feared that from the lips of all would come the malicious question, "What has become of your famous fur cloak?"

But hope did not forsake him. He felt it that the dear treasure would ere long come back to him. It could not be lost; whoever stole it could not use it. The whole county knew it to be his.

And he was not mistaken. The news came that the thieves were caught and the stolen property recovered and was by that time in the hands of the County Judge. Within four days the rightful owner could recover it, or else it would be auctioned off as property found or recovered whose owner could not be identified.

Immediately he started on his way to the castle to reclaim it; he did not hesitate a second, he went to demand his own.

The County Judge made no objections, he admitted that the fur cloak was there and silently beckoned him to follow. Through many bright rooms on the floors of which fine carpets were spread, Filcsik trod with his muddy boots behind the Judge until at last they arrived at a dark room.

"There is your fur cloak," the Judge said with trembling voice and pointed to a corner, "take it!"

The old eyes became but slowly accustomed to the darkness, but he found his way to the corner whence groans and moans came.

The Judge stepped up and withdrew the bed-curtain, Filcsik staggered back.

Therese lay there, pale as a broken stemmed lily, her long black eyelashes closed, her feet covered with the famous tulip embroidered fur cloak.

She was beautiful even though now dying, an angel saying good-bye to this world. Where is she hurrying? To the heaven from which she once came.

It may be that she will never again open those charming eyes of hers, which could glance so archly, or those lips of hers which to kiss was such supreme bliss.

Filcsik stood mute, motionless, as if in thought, but only for a minute; then he boldly stepped up to the dying, and took off that cloak for which she had pined so much. It may be that she would have no use for it any more.

The dying angel did not even move. Filcsik's hand did not even tremble. He did not even cast a last glance on his dying daughter. Mute, without uttering a syllable, he went out as if nothing could pain him.

He did not even turn