The Black Cross Part 34

It was still in the carriage. From outside came the sound of the rain falling, and the hoofs of the horses trotting. Kaya shut her eyes.

The rhythmical sound caught her senses. She was in St. Petersburg again, and driving in the darkness through the night and the storm; and Velasco was beside her--Velasco! They were driving to the church to be--married.

"Don't do that again," cried the Kapellmeister fiercely, "I can't bear it."

"W--what?"

"You moaned."

Kaya crept closer into the corner, and clasped the cloak to her breast and throat.

"It is like seeing a bird with a shot in its breast--in torture," he said, "And when you sing, it is like a swan song. Your soul is on your lips, crying out, imploring.--Kaya!"

He bent over the shrinking form in the corner: "I was brutal to you; my heart was sore, seeing you suffer. The words came out like a lash; they cut you. I saw how they hurt you. Little one--if I bare the wound to the air again, forgive me--forgive me! No--don't shrink away.

If you love him like that, my G.o.d--I know him! He comes to my house!

Only a few weeks ago he was there, and he's coming again; soon, I tell you, soon. I swear I will bring him to you! If he won't come, I will force him; with my hands I will drag him if he refuses."

The girl gave a cry: "Drag him!" she cried, "Force him! Ah, he'd fly at a word--he'd fly to me!" She caught her breath: "Bozhe moi!" she said suddenly, and laughed: "What are you talking about, dear Master?

Velasco--he's nothing to me! A musician, you said--a violinist! You forget I am Brunnhilde to-night. We talked of a curse--not love.

Siegfried is still behind the flames and cannot get past."

She laughed again, a sound like a trill: "You forget, don't you?" she said, "I was acting a part! It wasn't real; I was only playing--pretending. How the Schultz cheated you! Ah, dear Master--you thought she had lost her wits and her size all at once.

You never noticed how she had shrunken; and that was because I stood on tip-toe, and held myself straight with the helmet. If the light hadn't fallen full on my face, you would never have guessed! I laughed to myself; how I laughed! I--laughed!"

"Child," said the Kapellmeister suddenly. "You are sobbing!"

"I am not--I am laughing, dear Master. Look at me! There is the mill across the promenade. How gaunt the wheel looks, and strange, with its spokes dripping, and the rain las.h.i.+ng down! And there is a light in my window--a candle, see? Old Marta is waiting, and how she will scold.

Tell me, Master--dear Master, before we get there, tell me--some day may I act Brunnhilde and sing, when the curtain is up, and the House is full, and Siegfried is there, and you at the baton--and the orchestra playing? Tell me!"

She drew closer to him, and the last words came out in a whisper, breathless and eager. "Put those other thoughts out of your mind, dear Kapellmeister. Ve--Velasco is only a name--nothing more!

"If I can sing I will be happy; I promise you. The sting of the curse will--pa.s.s. You are silent and cold!" she cried, "You won't tell me, and we are almost there--at the mill! Master!"

The Kapellmeister started: "The mill?" he stammered, "What were you saying, Kaya? How cold your hand is, little one! Of course you shall sing. You shall be our great Brunnhilde and the visitors will flock to Ehrestadt, and you will be famous and beloved."

He hesitated: "I can't see you, only your eyes gleaming, Kaya. How bright they are, little one, like live coals! Where did you get that name--'Master'? Did Marta teach you? My pupils say that, the chorus, the orchestra, and the singers; but you never used it before. It is because I am old now and my hair is grey, and you are a child. I must seem to you like your father, Kaya."

"No," said the girl quickly, "not my father! He was hard and cruel; he was a friend of the Tsar. I--I never loved him."

"Nor me," cried the Kapellmeister hoa.r.s.ely, "Nor me!"

The words sprang to his lips in spite of himself; they were low, and he thought she did not hear; but her ear was keen. She bent forward taking his hand, and kissed it swiftly, holding it between her own.

"Dear Kapellmeister! Dear Master!" she cried, half laughing, half with a sob: "You know I love you. When I was ill and alone, and desperate, and helpless, longing to die, you came to me. You saved me and helped me; and I was nothing to you but a stranger. You were father and mother to me; and now, you are my master, and teacher, and friend."

She lifted his hand again to her lips and caressed it: "I love you,"

she cried, "dear Master, I love you with all my heart!"

Ritter stirred against the cus.h.i.+ons; his hand lay limp in her clasp.

"Yes, little one," he said, "Yes. Your heart is like your voice, fathomless and pure. The carriage has stopped now, and there is the candle, burning up yonder under the eaves. Can you find your way alone, without help? I am strangely weary."

His voice was low, and the words came slowly, with an effort. He pa.s.sed his hand over his face:

"Good-night--Brunnhild'!"

He held her hands and drew her towards him: "Good-night, little one.

There are shadows under your eyes, and your lip quivers; you are pale.--Good-night." He held her for a moment in a strong grasp, staring down into her face; then she was gone and the door closed behind her. His hands were empty, and the horses had turned, and were galloping back through the rain and the night.

CHAPTER XX

It was dusk, and the lights of the Rathskeller began to twinkle out one by one. The Keller was long and rambling, divided into innumerable small alcoves and corners, part.i.tioned by strange and antique carvings.

The ceiling was low, with octagonal vaults like a cloister. On the smoke-grimed walls, here and there, were mural paintings of knights in armour, and fat peasants drinking, dimmed and half obliterated.

Beneath were legends and proverbs, printed in quaint, old-German characters; while across one end, like a frieze, ran a ledge carven with gargoyles, rude and misshapen. On the ledge were beer mugs of every size and description, with queer tops and crooked handles.

Above, suspended from the ceiling by chains, hung a huge Fa.s.s; and from the throats of the gargoyles, dragon and devil alike, dripped the beer, turned on by small taps hidden.

In and out, among the tables, sped the waitresses in their Tyrolese costume with its picturesque head-dress; and beyond lay the garden, innumerable bulbs of light gleaming like fire-flies among the trees.

"Bitte um zwei Munchener!"

"Sogleich, meine Herren."

"Ein Chartreuse und ein Pilsener!"

"Jawohl! Sofort!"

And the waitresses sped, vying with one another, coquetting with their patrons, smiling gayly with sharp retorts; their eyes bright, their trays laden with foaming beer mugs.

In one of the alcoves, far back in the shadow, sat two gentlemen. The younger had removed his hat, and was pus.h.i.+ng the hair impatiently back from his brows. His eyes were dark and sleepy, half covered by the brows, weighed down by the lids.

He was leaning on one elbow and responded languidly to his companion, half heeding, toying with his hands, and strumming on the table with his fingers, which were white, and supple, and full of magnetism.

Beside him lay a violin.

"You are nervous to-night, Velasco?"

"I am always nervous."

"What shall we eat and drink?"

"Donnerwetter--what you please! If I eat, I cannot play. Bring me some of that Rhine wine, Fraulein, the white in the slanting bottles, and a plate of Pretzeln. No beer--bewahre!"

The Musician raised his hands with a shrug of his shoulders, and then sank back in his former listless att.i.tude.

"That is your Polish taste, Velasco. Try a bit of Sc.h.i.n.ken with me, or a Stuckchen of Cervelat with cheese--eh? If you eat, you will be less nervous, and your fingers will become warm. When you play, you are abstinent as a priest before the ma.s.s."

The older man smoothed his beard, which was fast turning grey, and lifted the beer mug to his lips.