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Updated: June 16, 2025
When I am absent you need have no anxiety, for these walls are impregnable, and if anyone should dare offend you by the slightest look, that moment shall be the last of his mortal career. And when I am at home you have nothing to fear, for woman's image never dwelt within my heart. Accept my poor couch, and may your rest be sweet! Imre Bardy slept on it last night."
The castle was completely surrounded by a strong rail-work of iron, the stone pillars were overgrown by the evergreen leaves of the gobea and epomoea. It was the early spring of 1848. A party, consisting of thirteen persons, had assembled in the dining-room. They were all members of one family, and all bore the name of Bardy.
They were dressed alike, and the resemblance between them was so striking that they were constantly mistaken. They were twin- children of the young couple. At the lower end of the table sat Imre Bardy, a young man of twenty, whose handsome countenance was full of life and intelligence, his figure manly and graceful, and his manner courteous and agreeable.
In wind and rain the master of Harkings had been laid to rest in the quiet little churchyard of Stevenish. The ceremony had been arranged in haste, as soon as the coroner's jury had viewed the body. Robin Greve, that morning arrived from Rotterdam, Bude, and Mr. Bardy the solicitor, had been the only mourners.
"The Olah! the Olah!" was echoed through the corridors by the terrified servants. By the light of a few torches, a hideous crowd was seen before the windows, armed with scythes and axes, which they were brandishing with fearful menaces. "Lock all the doors!" cried Jozsef Bardy, with calm presence of mind. "Barricade the great entrance, and take the ladies and children to the back rooms.
Her hand and voice trembled with age, and there was something peculiarly striking in the thick snow-white eyebrows. On her right hand sat her eldest son, Thomas Bardy, a man of between fifty and sixty. With a haughty and commanding countenance, penetrating glance, lofty figure, and noble mien, he was a true type of that ancient aristocracy which is now beginning to die out.
The same peculiarity characterized every countenance in the Bardy family namely the lofty forehead and marked brows, and the large deep-blue eyes, shaded by their heavy dark lashes. "How singular!" exclaimed one of the party; "we are thirteen at table to-day." "One of us will surely die," said the old lady; and there was a mournful conviction in the faint, trembling tones.
"Ay, ay," continued the old lady, "the trees are now putting forth their verdure, but at the fall of the leaf who knows if all of us, or any of us, may still be sitting here?" Several months had passed since this slight incident. In one of the apartments of the castle, the eldest Bardy and his son were engaged in earnest conversation.
The same peculiarity characterized every countenance in the Bardy family namely the lofty forehead and marked brows, and the large deep-blue eyes, shaded by their heavy dark lashes.* * There is a race of the Hungarians in the Carpath who, unlike the Hungarians of the plain, have blue eyes and often fair hair. "How singular!" exclaimed one of the party; "we are thirteen at table to-day."
Bardy, the solicitor, to whom, by common consent, the reading of the confession had been entrusted, raised his eyebrows, thereby letting his eyeglass fall, and looked round at the company. "Pon my soul," he remarked, "for a man about to take his own life, our friend seems to have been the coolest customer imaginable. Look at it! Written in a firm hand and almost without an erasure.
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