"Bother it all!" he thought to himself; "of course I shall see her again sooner or later if she is there."
He was standing in his usual place again one evening, when he saw two shadows move away from the opposite window in the most tantalizing manner, and he felt so hopeful that he sat down to watch at his ease. If tobacco had been known in those days, no doubt he would have lighted his pipe or a cigar; but as it was not, he had nothing to console himself with, and could only sit and "look for King David and his harp" in the moon, as the saying is.
All at once he fancied that he really did hear him playing his harp in his silver palace. There were sounds of some sort—soft, sweet sounds, which came floating towards him on the air; and he thought to himself that he had surely heard the plaintive melody with its vibrating chords somewhere before.
"To be sure! I have got it!" he said to himself. "I know now where! But, of course, others might know the air.—Eh! what's that, though?" he exclaimed, as a sweet, young, bell-like voice now began to accompany the instrument, and he heard one of the very songs which he had himself composed in the days which now seemed so long ago.
That Miska the beggar boy should be a popular poet will astonish no one who knows how many of the popular songs of Hungary have had their origin in the humble cottages of the peasantry, in the course of past centuries. Every village has its poet, who is also frequently a musical composer as well. He sings his songs at the village merry-makings to airs of his own invention, and the gipsies, who are always present on such occasions to play for the dancers, accompany him on their fiddles. If they take a fancy to the air, they will remember it, and invent variations to it, and in this way it will be preserved and become part of their stock.
"One life, one God,
One home, one love,"
sang Michael's opposite neighbour, in a voice of great beauty and sweetness.
"It's Esther! it must be Esther!" cried the young man, starting to his feet in great excitement. "Esther!" he said, and a flush mounted to his face; "but here, here, actually here, opposite me? Impossible! I must see her and make sure. No one could know that song, though, but herself; I made it for her, and no one else ever had it, at least from me."
Often and often Michael had wondered what had become of his little friend and the other inhabitants of the castle; but whenever he had ventured to hint an inquiry as to Mr. Samson's fate, or had tried to find out anything about the rest, the king had turned the subject, and avoided giving him any direct answer. Of course it was out of the question to press the matter, so that he had known positively nothing of what had happened ever since the eventful night when he had left the castle. But though his life had been a very busy one, and many fresh new interests had come into it, he had never forgotten the one pleasant acquaintance whom he had made in Mr. Samson's grim castle. He walked across towards the window now full of eagerness; but the singer, whose voice he thought he recognized, was sitting in such a provoking way that he could not see her face, and he had been careful to manage so that she should not see him either. Presently he stopped, with his foot on the window-sill, and then took another step forward, which apparently startled the singer, for the song ceased abruptly, and a rather frightened face looked up at him.
"It is you!" cried the young officer, in impetuous delight; and "Is it you?" said the girl, more quietly, but with a flush of pleasure.