At that instant the sound of horses' hoofs was heard in the court, and Julia's maid burst into the room with a look of astonishment, "Miss!—Madam!—gracious lady! Master Kalman's horse!"
"Don't dare to admit him," cried the lady, starting passionately from her seat.
"But it is not Master Kalman, only his horse, with a strange young gentleman."
"Who?"
Who, indeed, but the unfortunate Sandor, who had been carried across the district to the principal town of the neighbouring county, and set down before a strange house half dead with terror and fatigue!
Kalman had been accustomed to visit Julia every day on horseback, and on these occasions the fair lady used to feed the horse with sugar from her own delicate hands, so that when he passed up that street the animal would frequently carry his master perforce into the court of Julia's house, and now, having been six days absent, he had consequently been six days without sugar, and, naturally enough, finding himself unchecked, set off, and never stopped till he arrived in the court of Julia's house, where he stood still, and began neighing for the sugar.
This is the most natural way of explaining the psychology of the circumstance, at least as far as we are capable of comprehending the ideas of a horse.
Sandor tumbled off the horse's back as soon as it stopped, and tottered towards the wall with aching and distorted limbs: presently, he crept up to the door with great difficulty, just as Julia with her maid had appeared on the staircase to see who was there.
"Who are you?—what do you want?—how did you come here?" were the first questions put to the unhappy stranger.
"Don't ask me anything," groaned the horseman. "I am lost—I am dying—my back is broken—put me to bed and call a surgeon. I am just going to die!"