The Gisella Castle stood alone in its grandeur, the nearest town three miles away. Built many hundred years ago, its solid sides seemed untouched by the passage of time. If the outer walls were green with moss they were nevertheless as formidable and unapproachable as ever, prepared to yield only to modern high-powered explosives. Here lived Imre Kiss and his daughter Elizabeth, all unconscious that away in Budapest Bela Kun and Company had cast envious eyes upon its splendours; and so, on a sparkling spring morning, when all nature seemed to sing with joy, they peacefully broke the fast. Even Imre, conquering his fading sight only with the aid of _pince-nez_, could not fail to notice an air of elation in Elizabeth's manner as she joyfully partook of her meal. "Why, daughter, what witchery are you up to this morning? It is a long time since I have seen you so happy." Elizabeth glanced at him lovingly and smiled. "Father dear, you have not forgotten?" "Forgotten!" The old man wrinkled his forehead and peered at her with a puzzled expression upon his face. "Have I forgotten something? Does Francis, your cousin, visit us this day?" She laughed crooningly, so that its music rippled and echoed round the panelled hall. "Father dear, it is the fifteenth to-day. Does that date mean nothing to you?" He looked at her, dismayed. "Bless my heart, child, it is your birthday! Dear, dear! Then to-day you are twenty-three years of age--and--and--" across the table his glance rested steadily upon her, longer than it had done for many years, "--why, dearest child, you are more beautiful than ever." He gazed entranced upon the picture she presented. Through the leaded windows the sun was throwing a golden gleam, in the path of which she sat, so that she was bathed in its brilliancy. "My child--twenty-three to-day." Murmuringly the words escaped; they were but thoughts which passed through his mind. "Just twenty years ago--she--died, and now--yet did she die? Is not my daughter Elizabeth she, the other Elizabeth? Are not those big, dark eyes, so full of pride and sympathy too, her eyes? It was when I first looked into them that I worshipped her. It is her chin you lift so proudly, dear; there is no doubt that you are born and bred a Magyar. You love Hungary too, don't you, daughter?" At the mention of the word Elizabeth's face changed yet again, just as her expressions had altered following the trend of his reverie. From joy and happiness to naïve pleasure at his praise, then sadness, and a vague, indefinable longing. Then once more her features mirrored her thoughts. Pride of birth, of race, of country! Imre needed no affirmation to his question. He shook his head from side to side. "But now, your birthday has arrived and I have no present for you. Tut, tut! My memory is becoming execrable. Perhaps it is my work--I devote too much time to it."