"So late as that? Why didn't you wake me?"
"Ah, that would have been a sin. You were at home, talking with your little boy."
The road lay thenceforth along the riverside. It was late in the evening when they came to an island of some size lying in the middle of the stream, and communicating by a bridge with the bank on which Ödön and his guide were standing.
"Here we are," announced Boksa. "This is where my acquaintance lives,—the one I was going to bring you to."
"What is his name?" asked Ödön.
"You'll know him when you see him," replied the other evasively.
"But shall I not be a burden to him?"
"No, indeed."
They rode over the bridge, and an ivy-covered villa came to view through the foliage. Proceeding up the gravel path to the veranda, they alighted and gave their horses to the stable-boy. Through the long windows that opened on the veranda could be seen a lamp and people gathered about it. A young woman sat with a sleeping child in her lap; an older lady, with a face of marble pallor, sat before an open Bible; and a young man held a little boy on his knee and drew pictures for him on a slate. A big Newfoundland dog suddenly rose from the corner where he was sleeping, and, with a half-suppressed bark of eager expectation, came bounding to the door.
"Where am I?" stammered Ödön in great agitation.