Jánös was a gamekeeper, and had until
now led a life of domestic happiness with
his wife and child. He was replaced by an
ignorant upstart, better skilled in the arts of
fawning and flattery than in those of hunting
and woodcraft.

Driven from house and home, Jánös
removed, with his family, to a clay hut, on the
banks of the Danube, not far from the Castle.
He tried in many ways to provide for their
support: but, like his father and his grand-
father, he was only a huntsman. His skill,
therefore, was limited to the green forest,
and his unerring ball. His utmost efforts
in field-work and fishing, brought small gain
and great vexation.

His child fell ill, and the blooming cheek
of his young wife grew pale from want and
anxiety. Jánös knew not where to turn.
The village doctor had declared meat and
nourishing food to be the only medicine for
mother and child. The prescription was
received in silence; it was given with the
coldness and indifference of one who, grown
dull to such sad scenes by their frequent
repetition, cares little whether the advice he
gives can be followed or not.

For many hours after the departure of the
doctor, they remained brooding gloomily over
his words. The young wife had at last,
through sheer weariness, fallen asleep, with
her little one on her arm. The huntsman
gazed on the mother and child, and two
large tears—strange visitants to his proud
face—fell down his cheeks on to his dark
beard. Suddenly his eye flashed. A resolve
seemed to burst, struggling, from him; his
lips grew pale. Stealthily he arose; and,
groping in the straw that formed his bed,
drew forth a double-barrelled gun from its
concealment;* he threw over his shoulder his
large bunde; † and, hiding beneath it gun,
pouch, and powder-flask, he hastened through
the doorway.

* According to the law, none but the nobles are allowed
to keep fire-arms, without express permission.

† Hungarian sheepskin.

It was already dusk, when the crying of her
child for food awoke Terka from a feverish
sleep. She raised herself with difficulty,
looked around, and saw she was alone.
Where was Jánös? She knew that, for a
week, he had been without work ; what
could have induced him to forsake his sick
wife? A horrible foreboding, which she
could not define, seized her. She rushed out,
and called him with a loud voice. There was
no answer. She returned to the hut, took
the wailing child in her arms, and darted
from house to house in the village, asking
for her husband. Some had not seen him ;
others answered with embarrassment, and
sought to persuade her to return to the hut.
This only rendered the dark image of coming
evil more distinct. Onward and onward, a
nameless presentiment seemed to impel Terka
towards one fixed spot.  Meanwhile, night had
completely closed in. The starving child
shuddered on the breast of its mother; who, though
only half-clothed, neither felt the raw night-
wind, nor heeded her infant's cry. She had
now arrived in front of the Castle; the gates
were wide open, but the entrance was filled
with a crowd of people. Terka stopped for a
moment, and turned her large black eye on
the bystanders, who, motionless with terror,
were gazing towards the interior of the castle-
yard.

Silence reigned for a moment; a loud,
horrible cry then pierced the air—one that
seemed rather forced from a sense of powerless
rage than from pain. A cold shudder
ran through all present; Terka had sunk on
her knees, but rose at once; and, with the
strength of madness, pushing aside her
neighbours who sought to detain her, reached the
space within.

It was lighted by the ruddy glare of torches,
held by a number of servants who were
ranged around. The husband lay, bound with
cords, on the ground; and the hissing scourges
fell, with fearful rapidity, upon him. A few
paces distant stood the grey-headed Count,
with his two beardless sons. All three
appeared to look upon the scene as on an
unexpected excitement. If a groan or cry
from the poacher (he had been caught in
the act) caused the executioner, who had
been created for the occasion, to pause
involuntarily, a heavy blow on his own shoulder,
dealt by the high hand of his gracious lord,
taught him to do his duty better; and, urged
by a feeling of revenge, he visited this insult
to himself with threefold force on his victim.

Terka gazed with vacant eyes; no cry
escaped her lips. The storm had loosened her
long black hair, which she thrust from her
pallid brow as though she wished to see more
clearly. Mechanically she drew nearer to her
husband—and now, he sees her ! A fresh
scream of rage bursts from him—it was like
no human sound !

"Away!" he cried, in the Hungarian tongue,
"what would an angel do among demons?"

The young wife made no reply;
unconsciously, she opened her arms—the child fell
on the stones of the court-yard, and she sank
fainting by its side.

Silently, as at the funeral procession of a
murdered man, did the neighbours carry the
father, mother, and child, all three covered
with blood, back to their hut. The savage
humour of the great lord was for a time at rest.
The streets were empty; no one dared to
appear at his door while the mournful train
passed. Even those whom humanity had
rendered bold enough to take the huntsman to
his home, withdrew, in anxious haste, fearful
of exciting anew the rage awakened in their
tyrants.

The injuries which the mother and child
had received in their fall to the pavement
were, fortunately, slight; but Jánös lay in a
burning fever, occasioned by his wounds