The Black Cross Part 30

"One--two--four--seven!" she mumbled, "Sing, Fraulein? Ah, who can tell! You are weak yet."

"No," said Kaya, "I am strong; see my arms. I can stand up quite well and walk about the room with the help of your shoulder; you know I can, Marta."

The old woman gave her a glance over her spectacles: "Seven--ten!" she repeated, "If it were your spirit, Fraulein, you would be Samson himself; but your body--" She shook her head: "Na, when the master comes, ask him yourself. It is he who has talked with the Doctor, not I."

"He is coming now," said Kaya. "I hear his step on the stairs, quick and firm like his beat. Don't you hear it, Marta?--Now he has stopped and is talking with the miller." She leaned back on the pillows and her eyes watched the door.

"Eh, Fraulein! Nein, I hear nothing! What an ear you have--keen as a doe's when the wind is towards her! At home, in the forest, where the deer run wild and they come in the dawn to the Schneide to graze--whischt! The crackle of a leaf and they are off flying, with their muzzles high and their eyes wild. Na! I hear nothing but the wheel below grinding and squeaking, and the splash of the water."

"He is coming up the stairs," cried Kaya, "Open the door for him, Marta, and let the Kapellmeister in."

The old woman rolled up her knitting slowly: "It was just at the turn of the chain," she grumbled, "and I have lost a st.i.tch in the counting.

The master can come in by himself."

Kaya gave a gleeful laugh like a child, and slipped her feet to the floor: "Oh, you cross Marta, you dear humbug!" she cried, "As if you wouldn't let the master walk over you and never complain! Go on with that wonderful m.u.f.fler of his, and I will let him in myself. No, don't touch me! Let me go alone and surprise him."

She steadied herself with her hand to the bed-post, then caught at the chair: "Don't touch me--Marta! I am quite strong--now, and able to--walk!"

A knock came on the door, and she made a little run forward and opened it, clinging to the handle.

"Du himmlische Gute!" exclaimed the Kapellmeister, "If the bird isn't trying its wings! Behute, child!" He put a strong arm about her, looking down at her sternly and shaking his head: "Do you call this obedience?" he said grimly, "I thought I told you not to leave that couch alone--eh?"

"Don't scold me," said Kaya, "I feel so well to-day, and there is something leaping in my throat. Herr Kapellmeister--it is begging to come out; let me try to sing, won't you?" She clung to his arm and her eyes plead with him: "Don't scold me. You have put 'Siegfried' off twice now because you had no bird. Let me try to-day."

The Kapellmeister frowned. Her form was like a lily swaying against the trunk of an oak.

"Tschut--" he said, "Bewahre! Marta, go down and bring up her soup.

When your cheeks are red, child, and the shadows are gone from under your eyes, then we will see."

Kaya pushed away his arm gently, and there was a firmness about her chin as of a purpose new-born. "You have paid for my lodging and my food, Herr Kapellmeister," she said proudly, "You have sent me your own servant, and she has been to me like a foster mother. You have cared for me, and the Doctor and the medicines are all at your cost." She steadied herself, still rejecting his hand, "And I--" she said, "I have earned nothing; I have been like a beggar. If you will not let me sing, Herr Kapellmeister, then--"

He looked at her for a moment in a wounded way and his brow darkened: "Well--?" he said.

"Then you must take away your servant and the Doctor, and--and your kindness," said Kaya bravely, "and let me starve again."

"You are proud--eh? You remember that you are a Countess?" The Kapellmeister laughed harshly.

"I am not a Countess any more," said Kaya, "but I am proud. Will you let me sing?"

"When you are strong again and your voice has come back," he returned dryly, "you can sing, and not before. As for paying your debts-- There is time enough for that. Now will you have the goodness to return to the couch, Fraulein, or do you prefer to faint on the floor?"

Kaya glanced at the stern face above her, and her lip quivered: "You are angry," she said, "I have hurt you. I didn't mean to hurt you."

"The Doctor will be in presently," continued Ritter coldly, "I daresay he can restore you, if you faint, better than I. Perhaps you will obey his orders as you reject mine." There was something brutal in the tone of his voice that stung the girl like a lash. She turned and tottered back to the couch, the Kapellmeister following, his arms half extended as if to catch her if she fell; but she did not fall. He was still frowning, and he seemed moody, distraught. "Shall I cover you?" he said.

Kaya put out her hand timidly and touched his: "You have been so kind to me," she whispered, "Every day you have come, and when I was delirious I heard your voice; and Marta told me afterwards how you sat by the bed and quieted me, and put me to sleep.--Don't be angry." All of a sudden she stooped and put her lips to his sleeve.

He s.n.a.t.c.hed his hand away roughly. "You have nothing to be grateful for," he cried, "Pah! If a man picks up a bird with a broken wing and nurses it to life again for the sake of its voice, is that cause for grat.i.tude? I do it for my own ends, child. Tschut!" He turned his back on her and went over to the window. "If you want to know when you can sing, ask the Doctor. If he says you may--"

"You are still angry," said Kaya, "Don't be angry. If you don't want me to sing, I will lie here as you tell me and--try to get stronger."

She moved her head restlessly on the pillow, "Yes--I will!"

Ritter began to strum on the window-panes with his strong fingers: "The Doctor is here," he said, "ask him. I don't want you breaking down and spoiling the opera, that is all. The rest is nothing to me. Come in!"

There was a certain savageness in his tone, and he went on strumming the motive on the panes. "Come in, Doctor."

The door opened and a young man came forward. He was short of stature, and slight, with spectacles, and he stooped as if from much bending over folios.

"My patient is up?" he said.

"Walking about the room!" interrupted the Kapellmeister curtly.

The Doctor sat down by the pallet and took the girl's wrist between his fingers: "Why does it throb like this?" he said, "What is troubling you?"

"I want to sing," persisted Kaya defiantly, "If I sit in the flies with cus.h.i.+ons behind me, and only a small, small part--couldn't I do it, Doctor?"

The young man glanced at the Kapellmeister's rugged shoulders, and shrugged his own: "Why should it hurt you?" he said, "You have a throat like a tunnel, and a sounding board like the arch of a bridge. Your voice should come tumbling through it like a stream, without effort.

Don't tire yourself and let the part be short; it may do you good."

Kaya's eyes began to glisten and sparkle: "It is only the bird's part!"

she cried, "and I am hidden in the flies, so no one can see me. Ah--I am happy! I am well, Doctor--you have made me well!"

Presently the old woman brought in the soup and the Doctor rose: "Will you come with me, Herr Kapellmeister?" he said, "We can smoke below in the mill, while the Fraulein eats. I have still a few minutes."

Then the Kapellmeister left the window, and the two men went out together.

"Marta!" cried the girl, "I can sing! Did you hear him say it? Give me the soup quickly, while it is hot. I feel so strong--so well!"

She began taking the soup with one hand, and rubbing her cheek with the other: "Now, isn't it red, Marta? Look--tell me! Nurse, while you knit, tell me--did you see how angry he was, and how he went out without a word? It is he himself who asked me to sing, so why should he be angry now?"

The old woman clicked her knitting needles: "How do I know!" she said, "He lives alone so much, and he is crusty and crabbed, they say. I nursed him when he was a child, just as I nurse you now. He has a temper--Jesus-Maria--the master! But his heart is of gold. His wife--" she hesitated, "She was a singer, and she ran away and left him. They say she ran away with the famous tenor, Brondi, who used to sing Tristan. Since then the master has been soured-like!"

"That is strange," said Kaya dreamily, "to run away from some one you love, when you can be with him night and day and never leave him!

Sometimes there is a curse, and you are torn by your love, whether to go or stay. But if you love him enough, you go--and that is the best love--to save him from the curse and suffer yourself alone. Perhaps there was a curse."

"What are you saying?" cried the old woman, "When you were delirious, it was always a curse you raved of, and stains on your hands. Mein Gott! My blood ran cold just to hear you, and the Kapellmeister used to come--"

Kaya turned white: "He came?" she said, "and he heard me? What did I say, Marta, tell me! Tell me quickly!" She caught the old woman's hands and wrung them between her own.

"Jesus-Maria! My knitting!--What you said, Fraulein? How do I remember! Stuff and nonsense mostly! You were crazy with fever, and your eyes used to s.h.i.+ne so, it made me afraid. Then the Kapellmeister would come and put you to sleep with his eyes.--Let go of my hands, Fraulein, you are crus.h.i.+ng the wool! Is it the fever come back?-- Oh Je!"

"No," said Kaya, "No. You don't remember, Marta, whether I said any name--any particular name? I didn't--did I?"

The nurse pondered for a moment, then she went on knitting: "I can't remember," she said, "There was something you used to repeat, over and over, a single word--it might have been a name. Won't you finish your soup, Fraulein?"

"No," said Kaya, "I am tired. Will you go down, Marta, and ask the Kapellmeister if he will come for a moment? I have something to ask him."

The nurse rose: "They are smoking still," she said, "Yes, I smell their cigars! If you have finished the soup, I will take the tray.

Jesus-Maria! You are flushed, Fraulein, and before you were so white!