She went to Vilma's room, and, in order to lighten the load of anxiety which pressed upon her own heart, she commenced consoling her daughter. "I am sure he will soon be here," said she; "but the worst is, my supper will be spoilt. But do not be afraid, child. There is indeed a dense fog—you cannot see over the way—but then Akosh knows his road in the dark as well as by daylight. There are no wolves about the country now; no, indeed! and he does not care whether he rides by day or by night." And Mrs. Ershebet laughed, and appeared rather amused than otherwise by Akosh's staying away. But her words had a far different effect from what she intended. Vilma had never once thought that any misfortune could befall him she loved; and when her mother's words directed her attention to the possibility of an accident which might happen to Akosh, she became painfully alive to all sorts of dangers by which she fancied him surrounded.
"Good God!" cried she, "if any thing happens to him, it is I who am the cause!"
"Oh!" said Mrs. Ershebet, anxiously, "he is on good terms with the robbers, his horses are safe, he knows his way, and it is quite ridiculous to think that he should have strayed into the morasses of St. Vilmosh."
Vilma opened the window; and when she saw the thick fog, she shuddered to think that Akosh was alone on the heath. Half an hour passed amidst the greatest uneasiness; at length the sound of a horse's hoofs was heard in the distance. Mother and daughter listened anxiously, and their surprise was any thing but agreeable, when the door opened, and, instead of Akosh, the Liptaka entered the kitchen. Vilma, scarcely able to repress her tears, cried out:—
"Oh, mother! now I am sure he is lost!"
"Perhaps he has not been able to get away," said Mrs. Ershebet; "at least, not early enough. He'll come to-morrow."
"To-morrow!" cried the Liptaka: "do not tell the girl such a thing. Mr. Akosh would not stay away—nay, that he would not!—even if there were as many thunderbolts as there are drops of rain. Akosh too late! Is there a finer fellow in the county? I do not speak of the gentlemen, for it's easy to be a better man than any of them; but he beats us vulgar people, and in our own line, too. He is as strong as any that ever wore a gatya[14], and he is as bold as any szegeny legeny[15] in the world; and should he be afraid of darkness and rain? No, no, missie dear! any man will brave death for such a sweetheart as you are!"
"Don't be foolish!" said Mrs. Ershebet, highly flattered; "Vilma is no man's sweetheart."