'Surely, my child—are you afraid of me?'
It struck her, with a sudden sense of contrition, that she had made the children afraid of her. She had never thought of it before.
Bela hesitated once more, then said boldly: Gela said to day he might be dead. Oh, if he ever die, will you please tell me? I shall think of it day and night.'
Her face changed terribly; the darker passions of her nature were spoken on it.
'I have forbidden you to speak of your father, if it be him you mean,' she said sternly and very coldly.
But Bela, though frightened, clung to his one thought.
'But he may die!' he said piteously. 'Will you tell me? Please, will you tell me? He might be dead now—we never hear.'
She leaned her arm upon the table, and covered her eyes with her hand. She was silent. She strove with herself so as not to treat the child with harshness. Though he hurt her so cruelly, he was right. She honoured him for his courage.
'If you will only tell me that,' said the boy, with tears in his throat, 'I will never ask anything else—never—never!'
'Why do you cling so to his memory?' she said, with a sudden impatience of jealousy. 'He never took heed of you.'