"Bad company has led the young criminal astray: this is a dangerous temptation in this climate. We had him arrested at once, but none of the stolen money was found in his possession. He had lost part at the gambling-table, and got rid of the rest with the help of the Creoles; but it is quite possible that the rogue has managed to conceal considerable sums, in the hope of being able to get at them when again at liberty. However, he must wait some time, for the court here has sentenced him to fifteen years at the galleys."
Timar could read no further. He let the letter fall on the table; then he stood up and began to pace the room restlessly.
Fifteen years at the galleys! Fifteen years chained to the bench, and nothing to look at all that time but sky and sea! Fifteen years to endure the sickening noonday heat, without hope or comfort—to endure life on the ever-restless sea, and curse unmerciful man! He will be an old man before he gets his freedom. And why? In order that Herr Michael Timar, Baron von Levetinczy, may live undisturbed in his forbidden joys on the ownerless island—that no one may betray Noémi to Timéa, nor Timéa to Noémi. You never thought of this when you sent Theodor to Brazil, and yet you did count on the chance of opportunity making him into a thief. You did not lay him dead on the spot with a bullet, as a man kills in a duel him who stands in the way of his love. You pretended to a paternal affection for him, and sent him on a three-thousand miles' voyage; and now you will look on at this slow decay through fifteen horrible years—for you will see him, though all the earth and all her oceans lie between!
The stove had gone out. It was cold in the room, whose windows were covered with frost-flowers. And yet sweat dropped from Timar's brow, as he strode up and down the narrow space. So, then, every one is consecrated to misfortune to whom he gives his hand—on that hand is a curse.
Oh, what an awful night this is! Will it never be day? He felt as if this room were a dungeon or a tomb.
But the terrible letter had a postscript. Timar came back to the table to read it. The postscript was dated a day later, and ran thus: "I have just received a letter from Port-au-Prince, in which we are informed that three slaves have escaped from the galley on which our prisoner was placed. I fear our man is among them."
After the perusal of these lines, Timar was a prey to indescribable anxiety. Though he had been perspiring before, he began to shiver now. Had the fever returned? He looked round fearfully. What was he afraid of? He was alone in the room, and as frightened as a child who has been hearing ghost stories. He could not endure the room any longer. He took out his pocket-pistol and looked to its priming; then he tried his dagger, whether it was loose in its sheath.
Away! It was still night—not yet two o'clock; but he could not await the morning light here. And could he not get across to the Uj-Szöny side without a bridge? Above the island the ice would bear. It only required a man who was less afraid of darkness and danger than of the flickering candle and the outspread letter. He held that over the light and burned it; then he blew out the candle and crept out of the window.
Only when he was in the street did he feel his heart lighter: here he was a man again. Meanwhile fresh snow had fallen, which he heard crackling under his feet while he hurried to the shore, along the whole Servian Street right up to the harbor.