The Black Cross Part 24

Are you angry? I love you so! The whole world is nothing; art is nothing; fame is nothing. I would sell my Stradivarius for the touch of your fingers in mine, Kaya! I would give my soul for a look in your eyes! Ah, open them--dearest!"

His voice shook and was hoa.r.s.e, and he held her away from him, gazing down at her face and the panting of her breast. "Tell me you love me--Kaya!"

Suddenly she stiffened until her body was straight and unbending as steel, and the strength came back to her slowly. She opened her eyes and the veil was gone; they were flas.h.i.+ng and hard. "You use your strength like a coward, Velasco," she said. "Can you force love? I told you the truth."

She pointed to the fragments of paper on the floor with her finger, scornfully: "There lies the bond between us," she said, "See--it is shattered; it lies at our feet. You will go on your way from here alone, to fill your engagements, and I--" She hesitated and stopped again, as one who is afraid of stumbling.

Her arms stiffened, and her hands, and her whole body; and she drew away from him, avoiding his eyes, and looking only at the fragments of paper on the floor.

"Good-bye now--Velasco," she said.

He looked at her, and he was trembling and shaking from head to foot, like one in a chill. His teeth were clenched and his eyes were bloodshot; the pulses beat in his temples.

"My G.o.d!" he cried, "If it is true--if you don't love me! If--"

Kaya stretched out her hand to him, catching her breath. "Good-bye, Velasco--"

He turned on her fiercely, and raised his arm as if he would have struck her: "You are cruel!" he said, crying out, "You are not a woman!" He caught her by the shoulders and held her, looking down into her eyes, with his face close to hers.

"Swear it!" he cried, "Swear it if you can--if you dare! Swear you don't love--me."

She looked at him and her lips trembled.

"Swear it!"

She nodded.

A cry burst from his throat, like that of an animal, wounded, at bay.

His blood-shot eyes stared at her for a moment, and then he flung her from him with all his strength and turning, dashed from the room.

The door slammed.

The girl reeled backward, putting her hands to her face. Then, as the echo of his footsteps died away on the stairs, she fell on her knees, crouching and sobbing.

"He is gone!" she cried out, the words coming in little moans through her clenched teeth. "He is gone! Velasco is gone!"

Her form shook in a torrent of weeping, and she took her hands from her face and wrung them together. "I love him!" she said, "I love him! If he had stayed! No--no, I am mad! I am cursed--cursed by the Black Cross. There is blood on my hands!"

She held them out before her, and they trembled and shook. "Blood!"

she cried, "I see it--red--dripping! It fell from his wound on my hand and nothing will wash it away! Nothing!" Her voice died away to a whisper and she knelt, staring at her hands with eyes wild and dilated:

"Not even his love," she said, "not even his love could wash it away.

It would spread--he too would be cursed. He--too!" Then she flung herself on the floor and buried her head against the side of the couch, clinging to it, with her body convulsed:

"Come back, Velasco!" she stammered, "I am weak--come back! Put your arms around me--kiss me again! Don't be angry. Don't look at me like that! Velasco--I won't leave you! I--I love you! Come back!"

She lay still, shuddering.

Outside, in the street, came the clatter of wheels pa.s.sing and the cries of a street vendor; far off came the whistle of a locomotive.

Kaya dragged herself to her feet slowly, stumbling a little. She pa.s.sed her hands over her eyes once or twice, as if blinded; then feebly, like one who has just recovered from a long illness, she tottered towards the door and opened it.

Her head was bare and her curls covered it in a tangle of gold; her jacket and trousers were old and faded, patched at the elbows, torn at the knees. The tears had dried on her cheeks. She gazed ahead steadily without looking back; and the blue of her eyes was like the blue of the sky at night-fall, darkened and shadowy.

At the bend of the stairway she stumbled, half falling; then she steadied herself, clinging to the bal.u.s.trade with her hands--and went on.

It was day-light, and the c.o.c.ks were all crowing when Velasco returned.

When he opened the door the candle burned low in its socket, and the sun-rays came filtering in through the windows. The room was deserted.

He was muddy and footsore; his face looked haggard and old, and it was lined with deep furrows. His dark eyes were listless and weary, and his cheeks colourless.

"Kaya," he said, "are you here? Kaya!"

He looked on the couch, but it was empty; behind the curtains, but there was nothing; out of the windows, but there was only the street below. His eyes had a dazed look.

"Kaya!" he cried.

On the floor lay a boy's cap, torn, rakish, faded with the sun and the snow of their wanderings--a little, green cap. Velasco stared at it for a moment.

Then suddenly he s.n.a.t.c.hed it to his lips with a sob, and buried his head in his arms.

THE BLACK CROSS

PART II

CHAPTER XIV

Ehrestadt lies in a plain.

The walls of the old city have been leveled into broad promenades, shaded with nut-trees, encircling the town as with a girdle of green.

Beyond, a new city has sprung up, spreading like a mushroom; but within the girdle the streets are narrow and crooked, and the houses gabled; leaning to one another as if seeking support for their ancient foundations, with only a line of sky in between.

At the corner of the promenade, just where the old city and the new city meet, is a tumble-down mill. It is called the Nonnen-Muhle, and it has been there ever since Ehrestadt first came into existence, as is evident from the bulging of the walls, and the wood of the cas.e.m.e.nts, rotten and worm-eaten. The river winds underneath it, and the great spoked wheel turns slowly, tossing the water into a cloud of yellow foam, flinging the spray afar into the dark, flowing stream, catching it again; playing with it, half sportive, half fierce, like some monster alive.

As the wheel turns, the sound of its teeth grinding is steady and rhythmical, like a theme in the ba.s.s; and the river splashes the accompaniment, gurgling and sighing in a minor key, as if in complaint.

It was Johannestag.[1]

The citizens of Ehrestadt were walking on the promenade, dressed in their best; the men strutting, the women hanging on their arms, the children toddling behind. In the square a band was playing; the nut trees were in full leaf, and the air was warm and sweet with the scent of the rose buds. The wheel of the mill had stopped.

Just under the peak of the roof was a small window gabled, with a broad sill, and cas.e.m.e.nts that opened outwards, overlooking the promenade.

The sill was scarlet with geraniums, and the window itself was grown partly over and half smothered in a veiling of ivy. Behind the window was a garret, small like a cell; the roof sloping to the eaves.

There was nothing in the garret excepting a pallet-bed in the corner, under the eaves, and in the opposite corner a box on which stood a pitcher and basin; the basin was cracked; the pitcher was without a handle. On the wall hung a few articles of clothing on pegs; and the slope of the roof was grey and misty with cob-webs. Otherwise the garret was bare.