Page:Blackwood's Magazine volume 137.djvu/653

1885.] "You have something more to say – say it at once."

"She told me nothing else, but I have guessed."

"Oh, speak!" – he stamped with his foot on the ground.

"I think that she loves some one else."

István's teeth clenched, and he muttered a brutal curse.

"I am certain of it; she loves some one else, and he is a better man than you."

"Do not speak his name!" cried Tolnay, with sudden vehemence and a look of hatred almost diabolical in its malice. That first dawn of doubt which had risen the other day in the cave had prepared the way for this. That misgiving came to life again, and this time full-grown and near; not a mere dim, far-off possibility, which he had laughed at and scorned. The complacent self-confidence of half an hour ago made this fall from the height the more rude; the joyous hopefulness which had buoyed him up made this mortification the more intolerable. When that thought had first presented itself for consideration, he had dismissed it easily, for he had nothing but his own passing impression to go by, and vanity had argued eloquently against it: now this same thought was supported by Tryphosa's judgment; and Tryphosa's conclusions were arrived at slowly, but unfailingly.

"Do not speak his name!" he had cried, – "I will not hear it; the thought is maddening. I hated that man from the first day. I will – yes, I will."

His voice was so loud that the terrified Codran set up a howl of distress; but the angry tone broke off suddenly, and István paced the room with his hands clasped behind him, and his eyes fixed on the ground. He stopped by the table, and lifting the glass to his lips, drank off the wine, then put down the empty glass with such vehemence that the thin stem was shattered, and the upper half rolled broken to the ground.

Codran stopped crying, and detaching himself from his mother's hand, proceeded to make himself happy on the floor with the broken glass and the few drops of wine which still lingered about it.

István took up his hat and stick abstractedly, as if he had forgotten that he was not alone in the room.

He would not have looked at Tryphosa again, if she had not stopped him as he was passing her on his way to the door.

"Where are you going to, István?"

"To the mountains," he said, with a hard smile.

"To the mountains," she repeated. Then, after a momentary pause, "What will you do there?"

"Something; ah yes, I will certainly do something. Never fear!"

"To the mountains. And what is to become of me?"

"I don't know."

He raised his eyes from the ground for a moment. There was a curious look in them. Tryphosa thought that she knew every glance and expression of his by heart, but there was something in his face now which was new even to her. She began slowly to understand that her experiment had been a failure.

"We shall talk of that when I come back. There will be a great deal to talk about."

"You don't know – no, and you don't care."

"Perhaps not," he said, shaking her off.

Her arm remained poised, just where he had shaken it from him. Her face was white, but something was slowly kindling in her eyes.