King Matthias and the Beggar Boy Part 9

All at once he fancied that he really did hear him playing his harp in his silver palace. There were sounds of some sort--soft, sweet sounds, which came floating towards him on the air; and he thought to himself that he had surely heard the plaintive melody with its vibrating chords somewhere before.

"To be sure! I have got it!" he said to himself. "I know now _where_!

But, of course, others might know the air.--Eh! what's that, though?" he exclaimed, as a sweet, young, bell-like voice now began to accompany the instrument, and he heard one of the very songs which he had himself composed in the days which now seemed so long ago.

That Miska the beggar boy should be a popular poet will astonish no one who knows how many of the popular songs of Hungary have had their origin in the humble cottages of the peasantry, in the course of past centuries. Every village has its poet, who is also frequently a musical composer as well. He sings his songs at the village merry-makings to airs of his own invention, and the gipsies, who are always present on such occasions to play for the dancers, accompany him on their fiddles.

If they take a fancy to the air, they will remember it, and invent variations to it, and in this way it will be preserved and become part of their stock.

"One life, one G.o.d, One home, one love,"

sang Michael's opposite neighbour, in a voice of great beauty and sweetness.

"It's Esther! it must be Esther!" cried the young man, starting to his feet in great excitement. "Esther!" he said, and a flush mounted to his face; "but here, _here_, actually here, opposite me? Impossible! I must see her and make sure. No one could know that song, though, but herself; I made it for her, and no one else ever had it, at least from me."

Often and often Michael had wondered what had become of his little friend and the other inhabitants of the castle; but whenever he had ventured to hint an inquiry as to Mr. Samson's fate, or had tried to find out anything about the rest, the king had turned the subject, and avoided giving him any direct answer. Of course it was out of the question to press the matter, so that he had known positively nothing of what had happened ever since the eventful night when he had left the castle. But though his life had been a very busy one, and many fresh new interests had come into it, he had never forgotten the one pleasant acquaintance whom he had made in Mr. Samson's grim castle. He walked across towards the window now full of eagerness; but the singer, whose voice he thought he recognized, was sitting in such a provoking way that he could not see her face, and he had been careful to manage so that she should not see him either. Presently he stopped, with his foot on the window-sill, and then took another step forward, which apparently startled the singer, for the song ceased abruptly, and a rather frightened face looked up at him.

"It is you!" cried the young officer, in impetuous delight; and "Is it you?" said the girl, more quietly, but with a flush of pleasure.

"Well, did ever one see!" exclaimed a sharp voice behind Esther.

"Jancsi! [Johnnie!] how ever did you get here?"

"It is I indeed, my little demoiselle," said Michael, in the utmost surprise. "But I am quite bewildered. How did you come here?"

"Did not you know that the king had sent for me here to Buda?"

"The king!" said the young man, and a shadow crossed his face; "when?

what for?--and have you seen the king?"

"Three questions at once," said Esther, laughing. "Well, really I don't know anything more than that we came here under the escort of an old gentleman whom I don't know; and the king quartered us here, where we have been now three days, but I have not yet seen His Highness. G.o.d bless him! for I am as free here, and as happy," she went on, blus.h.i.+ng still more, "as if I had been born again. But come in; why do you stand there in the window? We are neighbours, you know, as we used to be, and neighbours ought to be on good terms with one another."

Michael felt as if he were dreaming, but naturally he did not wait to be asked twice; and the old woman, who had shown a marked liking for him before while he was in Samson's castle, welcomed him now with the greatest cordiality.

"Why, Jancsi, stay a bit," said she, "and let me look at you! Why, what a smart lad you have turned into, to be sure! What fine b.u.t.tons you have on your dolmany! and--well, I declare, you have a watch too! 'Your lentils must have sold' uncommonly well in the time; and just tell us now how you came to 'climb the cuc.u.mber-tree' so quickly, will you?"[12]

[Footnote 12: To "sell one's lentils well" and to "climb the cuc.u.mber-tree" mean to get on in the world and make one's fortune quickly.]

"Ah, auntie, that would take a long time to tell; but we'll have it another time. All I can tell you now is that I owe everything to the good king, and I would go through the fire for him; for my whole life, every moment of it, belongs to him."

Then in a few words he told them his history since the time when he had left the castle with Samson, and had so given Esther some hope of release.

"It is strange," said Esther thoughtfully, "that the king should have put us here opposite one another, and should have had these gloomy bastions put in order and made so habitable just for us."

"Very," said Michael. "I am surprised myself, and I don't understand it, especially as the king asked me yesterday, laughing, whether I had yet made acquaintance with my neighbour? But what is the good of troubling one's head about it? I am heartily glad, anyway; and you, Esther, are you pleased too? tell me."

The girl blushed a little, and giving Michael her hand, said: "Why shouldn't I be glad? I am sure I could not have come across a better neighbour, and it is to you most certainly that I owe my freedom."

The young officer sighed. "Indirectly, yes," he said; and then in a lower tone he added, "And the king might have entrusted you to my charge; I might have had the pleasure of bringing you here. However, when I had captured Mr. Samson, before I came back to the king, I showed the way in and out of the castle to the Jew whom Mr. Samson had intended to relieve of his pack, so it was easy enough then to get in and take possession."

"Of course," said Esther, "it did not need any very great valour to steal in at midnight and seize the place."

"And what has become of Mr. Samson? the king has never told me a word more about him."

"What has become of him? I should think he was safe in one of the king's prisons."

"Dear Esther, do tell me what happened; I am burning to know how it all came about."

"Well, when a few weeks had pa.s.sed and Mr. Samson did not come home, we all began to think that something had happened to him, and that he had perished for good and all. And then one midnight we heard a great noise of shouting and the clash of arms, and then Mr. Rozgonyi came and mentioned your name, and I let him into my room. For I was so frightened, not knowing what was going on, that I had treble-bolted the door and put the bar up; but when I heard your name, of course I knew it was all right, and I opened it at once."

"And what of the castle?"

"Mr. Rozgonyi did not allow much time for questions. He just said that he had brought some stone-masons with him; and apparently they had come to pull down and not to build, at least in the first place, for he wound up by saying that the king was going to have the stones used to build a church and monastery in the nearest village. There would be enough for three, I should think!"

"And did Miss Esther ever think of the poor beggar boy?"

"To be sure! But I thought more of the valiant Alpari Janos [John], who was so brave as to come into Mr. Samson's hiding-place, and then so clever as to get the wicked tyrant into his hands. But, Sir Knight, I felt afraid of you too, and I must confess that I am rather afraid of you still. For--you are certainly very clever at pretending and making believe to be what you are not; and when one finds it all out, how is one to believe anything you may say?"

"Good Esther!" said Michael, looking a little shamefaced, "but didn't I keep my promise to you? I said you should be released, and you were."

"True," admitted Esther.

"And if I acted the part of a dissembler with Mr. Samson, I was not my own master, you know; I belonged to the king, and was obeying his orders, not following my own fancies and wishes. But as regards yourself, I have never dissembled at all, from the time when first I began to make your acquaintance, and it rests with you to put my sincerity to the test."

"How do you mean? But I see we have been chattering away a long time.--Euphrosyne, light the candles.--And you, sir, must go, if you please; we have talked enough for to-day."

But though Esther dismissed him now, no day pa.s.sed after this without his coming to see her; and both she and Euphrosyne seemed to be always glad to see him and to listen to all he had to tell them, first about his own life and adventures, and the king whom he was never tired of extolling, and then about the day's incidents, his work and his studies, and what was going on in Buda; for they lived very quietly, and saw and heard but little of the outside world. Often, too, Esther would bring out her harp and play and sing. Her voice had gained in power and richness during the past two or three years, and she had had some teaching from one of the king's musicians; but nothing pleased Michael so well as to hear her sing the favourite old songs which he remembered of old, except--to hear her sing his own.

CHAPTER IX.

THE KING'S WHIM.

Things had been going on very pleasantly for some weeks, and Michael and his attractive little neighbour had been growing more and more intimate with each other, when one evening, on entering the room as usual, he saw at once that something was amiss; for Esther's bright face was quite overclouded, and her blue eyes looked troubled.

But Euphrosyne was mounting guard over her young mistress as she always did, and Michael's anxious but cautious inquiries met with evasive answers, or pa.s.sed unnoticed.

How he wished the old woman would find something to look after in the kitchen or elsewhere--anything to get rid of her, if but for a few minutes!

The conversation was less animated than usual this evening: Esther seemed to find a difficulty in talking and she said positively that she could not sing; and Michael was becoming quite uneasy and almost inclined to take his departure, when--whether she felt that she was not wanted or not--something or other made Euphrosyne discover, or perhaps pretend to discover, that she had something to attend to in another room.

Such a thing had never happened before, and Michael seized his opportunity, blessing her in his heart for leaving them to themselves, but fearing she would be back before he had said what he wanted to say.

"Now, Esther," he said persuasively, seating himself on the divan by her side--"now, Esther, tell me what has happened. What is troubling you?

you look so sad and out of spirits. What is the matter? I am sure there is something."

"My friend," answered Esther, "I _am_ sad, for I am to leave Buda."

"Why? where are you going?" cried Michael.