Things had been going on very pleasantly for some weeks, and Michael and his attractive little neighbour had been growing more and more intimate with each other, when one evening, on entering the room as usual, he saw at once that something was amiss; for Esther's bright face was quite overclouded, and her blue eyes looked troubled.
But Euphrosyne was mounting guard over her young mistress as she always did, and Michael's anxious but cautious inquiries met with evasive answers, or passed unnoticed.
How he wished the old woman would find something to look after in the kitchen or elsewhere—anything to get rid of her, if but for a few minutes!
The conversation was less animated than usual this evening: Esther seemed to find a difficulty in talking and she said positively that she could not sing; and Michael was becoming quite uneasy and almost inclined to take his departure, when—whether she felt that she was not wanted or not—something or other made Euphrosyne discover, or perhaps pretend to discover, that she had something to attend to in another room.
Such a thing had never happened before, and Michael seized his opportunity, blessing her in his heart for leaving them to themselves, but fearing she would be back before he had said what he wanted to say.
"Now, Esther," he said persuasively, seating himself on the divan by her side—"now, Esther, tell me what has happened. What is troubling you? you look so sad and out of spirits. What is the matter? I am sure there is something."
"My friend," answered Esther, "I am sad, for I am to leave Buda."
"Why? where are you going?" cried Michael.
"I don't know," said the girl—"I don't know! There! read what he says." And she handed Michael a letter.
"The king's writing!" he exclaimed; and then he read with a beating heart:—