He might have betted what he liked; when little Esztike returned, her artless countenance beamed with some joyful mystery, but there was no sugar-box in her hand.
Every eye was turned upon her; it was no wonder, therefore, that she blushed like the morning sky.
"Well, where is the sugar-box?" cried Mistress Debora impatiently.
Esztike blushed still deeper, looked still more confused; but at last, when she saw that everybody began to smile on her, she ran over to her father and hid her burning face in his bosom. The old man laughed, and kissed the little bride again and again, making her face still redder with his rough beard.
"I will go for the sugar myself," said I; for I felt as if thorns were under my feet.
"Certainly, go for it, both of you," said Uncle Gergely, putting Esztike's hand in mine.
"And now I will answer for it, we shall not see the sugar box to-night," remarked the assessor on the two chairs.
Who can presume to compare his happiness with mine? Who would be so audacious as to seek words to express such happiness? I am silent; for that small white hand, that smiling but fitful glance, those artless lips, whose silence spoke so much--all were mine; and their possession made me wealthier than if an empire had been conferred on me. O God! what a beautiful thought of thine was love!
When we returned to the arbour with the sugar-box, the company had long forgotten that they had drunk coffee; and we excused ourselves by saying that there was no sugar in the box when we went into the house. Fortunately they did not investigate the matter farther. So far was true--the box was empty when we went for it; but when we returned with it--there was still nothing more in it!
"This day two months I will be glad to see you all at the wedding." And with these words, my uncle closed the _fiançailles_.
But the will of poor mortals is in the keeping of God.
Before the two months were over, my uncle was obliged to take a long journey--so long, that he could not even take his pipe with him! He blessed us both, and died like a good Christian, scarcely cursing the doctor and the medicines; and we buried my good uncle, Gergely Sonkolyi.
Esztike and I mourned for him a whole year--outwardly; for in our hearts we remember him as tenderly to this day as if he had died but yesterday. And this was the reason that I could never call him 'father,' for there is no advancement in death: in whatever relation we die, there we remain.