The lad remained behind to hear his deposition taken down, and to sign it. The girl waited on the verandah for him to come out, his horse being tethered to an acacia hard by.
The lad, however, first went to the doctor to thank him for his unremitting kindness. The doctor having attended the inquiry, had, of course, heard everything.
"Well, Sándor," he said, as soon as the thanks had been got over, "I have seen many famous actors on the stage, but never one who played the betyár as you did!"
"I did right, didn't I?" asked the lad gravely.
"Yes, indeed, you are an honourable fellow. But say a kind word to the girl if you meet her. Poor thing, she never meant to do such wrong."
"I am not angry with her. May God bless you, sir, for your great goodness."
As he stepped out on to the verandah, the girl stopped him, and seized his hand.
"Sándor, what have you done? Sent your soul to perdition, sworn falsely, told a lying tale, all to set me free! You have denied ever having loved me, that my body may escape the lash, and my slender neck the blow that would sever it. Why have you done this?"
"That is my affair. This much I will tell you; from henceforth, one of us two I must hate and despise. Do not cry, you are not that one! I dare no longer look in your eyes, because I see myself reflected there, and I am worth no more than the broken button that is coming off my waistcoat. God bless you."
With that he untied his horse from the acacia, sprang on to it, and dashed off into the puszta.