St. Peter's Umbrella Part 39

And she turned round as though to return to the woods.

"Veronica, for heaven's sake don't torture me; what have I done?"

The girl looked at him coldly, her eyes were like two bits of ice.

"Leave me alone," she said, "what do you want with me?"

The young man caught hold of her hand, and Veronica did her best to free herself from his grasp, but he would not let go her hand till he had forced a ring on to her finger.

"That is what I want," he said.

"That is what you want, is it?" laughed the girl bitterly. "And this is what I want!" And she tore off the ring and threw it away, across the meadow, into the gra.s.s. Poor Gyuri fell back a few steps.

"Oh!" he exclaimed, "why did you do it? Why?"

"Do not try to deceive me any longer, Mr. Wibra. You should not put a ring on my finger, but on the umbrella, for that is what you really want to marry."

Gyuri began to understand what had taken place.

"Good heavens! You listened to our conversation!"

"Yes, I know all!" said Veronica, blus.h.i.+ng slightly. "It is no good your denying it."

"I don't wish to deny anything. But listen to me, please."

They walked quietly through the meadow, Gyuri talking, the girl listening, while the thousands of insects which peopled the fields flew away before their feet. Gyuri related the story of his life, and of his father's, of the supposed inheritance, of his search for it, and how he had gathered the threads together till they led him to Babaszek. The girl listened to him, first with reproach in her eyes, then as judge, trying to find out the truth, and as the story began to interest her more and more, she became quite excited. Now she was neither plaintiff nor judge, only an interested listener, surprised that the threads led nearer and nearer to herself. Now Gyuri is speaking of Mrs. Muncz's son, now Moricz is telling his story, which shows that the umbrella must be in Glogova. Then the forester's wife tells the tale of St. Peter's bringing the umbrella to the orphan child. A few more words and the story was complete.

Veronica knew all, and her eyes were swimming in tears.

"Oh, dear, how dreadful! Mrs. Adamecz burned the handle!"

"G.o.d bless her for it!" said Gyuri brightly, seeing the girl's depression, "for now at least I can prove to you that I love you for yourself alone."

Veronica had taken off the small red shawl and was swinging it in her hand. Suddenly she caught hold of Gyuri's arm, and smiled at him through her tears.

"Do you really mean that you still want to marry me?"

"Of course. What do you say to it?"

"I say that ..." She ceased speaking, for there was a queer feeling in her throat.

"Well?"

"That you are very volatile, and ..."

"And?"

"And that ... Let us run back and look for my ring."

With that she turned, and ran as fast as she could to the part of the meadow in which they had been standing when she threw the ring away.

Gyuri could hardly keep up with her.

They looked for the ring a long time, but it was not to be found. And soon Father Janos appeared on the scene.

"I say, Gyuri, don't say anything about the umbrella to my brother."

"No, my darling, I will never mention it."

His reverence gave Veronica a good scolding.

"You naughty girl! Is that the way to behave? How you frightened us! Of course you were chasing a b.u.t.terfly?"

"No, I was running away from one, but it caught me."

"What, the b.u.t.terfly?"

"Yes, that ugly, big b.u.t.terfly standing beside you."

His reverence understood as much as he was meant to, and set to work, too, to look for the ring. But they might have looked for it till Doomsday if Mr. Gongoly had not pa.s.sed that way. Veronica had quite despaired of finding the ring.

"Well, well, my dear," said the nabob of Glogova, shaking back his long gray hair, "never mind, trust in Gongoly, he will find it for you. There is only one way to do it, so in an hour's time they will be making hay in this field."

Though the gra.s.s was not two inches high (it had only been cut a fortnight before), Mr. Gongoly sent his men there to mow it, with the result that next day the ring was safely resting on Veronica's finger.

And for years the people spoke of the wonderful fact that in that year Mr. Gongoly's meadow gave two crops of hay, and it was always mentioned if any one spoke disparagingly of the Glogova fields.

What more am I to say? I think I have told my story conscientiously. All the same there are some things that will never be known for certain; for instance, what really became of Pal Gregorics' fortune, for there is no sign of it to this day. Was the supposed receipt in the handle of the umbrella or not? No one will ever know, not even little Matyko, who drank the water with three sparks in it. No king drinks such precious liquid as he did--if the story be true.

The legend of the holy umbrella is still believed in in those parts. Mr.

Sztolarik, who was fond of a gossip, certainly told his version of the story, how old Muncz the Jew had made a present to Christianity of a holy relic, and so on; but the old belief was strongly rooted, and he was only laughed at when he told his tale. And after all, there was something mystic and strange in the whole affair, and the umbrella had brought worldly goods to every one, Gyuri included, for it had given him the dearest little wife in the world. They were married very soon and never had such a wedding taken place in Glogova before. According to Veronica's special wish, every one who had been at the Mravucsans'

supper was invited to the wedding, for she wanted all those who had been present at their first meeting to take part in their happiness. There were a lot of guests from Besztercebanya too, among them the mother of the bridegroom, in a black silk dress, the President of the Courts, the mayor, and lots of others. Then there were the Urszinyis from Kopanyica, two young ladies from Lehota in pink dresses, and Mrs. Muncz from Babaszek, with lovely golden earrings on.

There were so many different kinds of conveyances in Glogova that day, it would have taken a week to look at them all.

Dear me, what a lovely procession it was too; the peasants stood and gazed open-mouthed at all the people in their beautiful dresses, but most of all at the bride, who walked at the head of the procession in a lovely white dress with a long veil and a wreath of orange-blossoms. Oh, how pretty she was!

But the bridegroom was splendid too, in the same kind of dress in which the king has his portrait painted sometimes. His sword, in a velvet sheath mounted in gold, clattered on the pavement as he walked up the church.

They stood in a semicircle round the altar, each lady with a nosegay of flowers in her hand, and perfumed to such an extent that the church smelled like a perfumer's shop.

It was a little cool in the church, and the young ladies from Lehota were seen to s.h.i.+ver now and then in their thin pink dresses; but everything went off very well.

The bridegroom spoke his "yes" in a loud, firm voice, the walls seemed to re-echo it, but the bride spoke it almost in a whisper, it sounded like the buzzing of a fly.

Poor child! She got so nervous toward the end of the ceremony that she began to cry. Then she looked for her handkerchief, but was there ever a pocket in a wedding dress? She could not find it, so some one from behind offered her one, then turned and said:

"b.u.t.ton up your coat, Wladin!"