Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: June 20, 2025
Is it conceivable that Timar's life could take such a frightful course as that which the last owner of this unlucky house only escaped by death? For if that is possible, then no respect could restrain me from beseeching you in God's name, dear lady, to delay not a moment in fleeing from this doomed house. I can not leave you to ruin I can not look on while another drags you into the abyss."
His recovery hung on perfect tranquillity; any violent excitement would kill him. Noémi stayed all night by Timar's sick-bed: she never even went out once to see little Dodi; he slept in the outer room with Frau Therese. On the morning of the fourteenth day, while Michael lay sound asleep, Therese whispered in Noémi's car, "Little Dodi is very ill." The child now! Poor Noémi!
"I told him the circumstances. 'I knew this Timar when he was a poor skipper, and had to wash his own potatoes in the ship's galley. Once I was sent by the Turkish police to track an escaped pasha who had fled on one of Timar's ships to Hungary. 'What was his name? growled my father. 'Ali Tschorbadschi. 'What! he exclaimed, striking me on the knee. He leaped up so that I thought he would jump overboard. Ha! ha! he forgot the chain. .
Timar remained alone on board: he said he wished to count the unloaded sacks, and would row himself ashore in the little boat. The moon had reached the water with its lower horn, and seemed to look in at the cabin window. Timar's hand trembled as if with ague. When he opened the blade of his knife, he cut his hand, and the drops of blood painted stars on the sack by the side of the red crescent.
Trikaliss drew from his leathern pouch a silk purse, and took out two rouleaux, which he pressed into Timar's hand. In each were a hundred ducats. Before long the boat was alongside, and the three armed men came on board.
In Timar's torture the words escaped him, "Oh, my little Dodi!" The fugitive laughed with a knavish grin. "I'll be his father, a very good sort of father "
Otherwise she won't have as many hundred when the salvage is paid." Those words rang in Timar's ears. An invisible hand drove him on. "Fata nolentem trahunt!" says St. Augustine. Soon after, Timar sat again in the diligence, which galloped away with its four Neudorf horses. In the town every one slept. Only at the station-house sounded the night watchman's call.
He copied the châlet and its furniture in the minutest detail; then he installed a large workshop in Timar's one-storied house in the Servian Street, and there set to work. No one was to know anything about it it was to be a surprise. But the architect required an apprentice to help him, and it was difficult to find one who could hold his tongue.
Two days before it Johann Fabula came flying into Timar's house. Yes, flying his floating cloak represented the wings. "Ten thousand! Twenty thousand! Forty thousand! Commission paid! The emperor! The king! Pasture! The crop!" He gasped out disconnected words, which Timar at last put together. "All right, Johann; I know what you mean.
"That also I carry as a remembrance of you," sneered the escaped criminal. Timar's eyes rested as if fascinated on the disfigured foot. "But just think, comrade, how kind fate can be! The ways of Providence are wonderful by which an unhappy sufferer is led to the arms of his friends. On the same bench where they had been good enough to fasten me, sat a respectable old man with a bushy beard.
Word Of The Day
Others Looking