Slowly divesting himself of his bunda, and after knocking the burning ashes out of his pipe, he noiselessly quitted the bee-house, traversed the garden and sprang over the fence at a single bound. Then he stole along in the shadow of the poplar avenue leading up to the castle till he stood beneath the moon-lit window, climbed, like a veritable lunatic on to the projecting stones of the old bastion, and gazed from thence, at closer quarters, at the regularly recurring shadow.
But not even now was he content, but began to break off little portions of the mouldering mortar and cautiously throw them at the window. When one of these little fragments of mortar rattled against the glass the whole window was quickly obscured by a shadow as if the night wanderer had rushed to it in order to look out. Gerzson felt absolutely certain that he must be observed for there he stood clinging fast on to the moulding. A few moments afterwards the shadow disappeared suddenly from the window and again the moonlight shone uninterruptedly through it.
Gerzson determined to remain where he was, to see what would come of it.
In a short time the shadow reappeared in front of the moonlight, the window was silently and very slightly raised, and through the slit fluttered a rolled up piece of paper.
This missive fell from the moulding of the bastion down into the moat. Mr. Gerzson scrambled down after it, grabbed at it in the dark and sticking it into his pocket, returned to the dwelling of the priest.
Not wishing to arouse the clergyman, he went to his carriage which stood in the stable and lit the lamp in order to read the mysterious missive.
The letter was written on a piece of paper torn out of an album. He recognized Henrietta's handwriting, and the contents of the note were as follows: "Good kind Gerzson! I implore you, in the name of all that is sacred, to depart from hence this instant. Depart on foot by bye paths—the priest will guide you. If you do not wish me to lose my reason altogether, tarry here no longer. I am very unhappy, but still more unhappy I should be if you were to remain here. Avoid us—and forget me forever—your affectionate—respectful—friend who will ever mention you in her prayers—and whom you have treated as a daughter—HENRIETTA."
Gerzson's first feeling on reading this letter was one of relief—evidently Henrietta was not angry with him or she would not have alluded to herself as his daughter! There must therefore have been some other reason for her turning back other than the squabble between them which Hátszegi had so industriously circulated. Well, he would settle accounts with Hátszegi presently.
What he found especially hard to understand, however, was the mysterious warning contained in the letter.
"Well, my dear parson," he said to himself, "I very much regret having to arouse you from your slumbers, but there's nothing else to be done," and, unscrewing the coach lamp, he took it with him and went towards the house.