It was four o'clock in the afternoon, and the shadows of twilight began
to gather on the gloomy sky. Agatha brought in a lamp, and all retired
save Carmen; thus leaving her and her father alone together,
undisturbed. Mauer lay quiet, with his eyes half closed; while his
daughter sat holding his hand in a loving clasp, her head buried in the
coverlid. In the stillness which prevailed in the chamber of death,
the door was heard to open, and some one entered noiselessly; but the
draught caused by the open window closed the door sharply behind the
visitor. Mauer opened his eyes at the sound, and looked up vacantly as
if he did not recognize Jonathan. Carmen also raised her head; but
when she saw who it was, she immediately hid her face again, for she
felt it quite impossible to speak to him now. Kneeling between the bed
and the wall, her form was completely hidden in the dark shadow.
"Brother Mauer, I have just returned from the Country, and hear that
you have been ill. What is the matter?" asked Jonathan.
At the sound of his voice, the sick man shivered as if from an icy
breath of wind. He stared at the physician with dilated eyes.
"Brother Jonathan," he faltered, "the end has come, and the old, dark
story will be laid with me in the grave. I know I have sinned
grievously, but have atoned with a life of repentance and cruel
suffering for the murder of an inoffensive wife."
As the old man spoke, Jonathan looked at him sharply and searchingly.
The light of the lamp shone on his altered features, which bore the
stamp of death. The physician seized his hand; the pulse was almost
gone; there was no possibility of saving his life; each moment brought
the end nearer. Then Jonathan's hate, revenge, and scorn broke loose,
and flashed unrestrained from his eyes, which were fixed on the figure
lying before him. For twenty years he had hated this man more than any
other on earth; and for twenty years he had been obliged to put on the
hypocrisy of love towards him. What a trial for his hot, seething
passion! At the last, the moment had now come when his enemy was in
his power, and he could throw up his visor and show his real face! Now
was the time to crown his revenge, before the object of it passed
entirely out of his reach forever.
Jonathan glanced hastily around the quiet darkened chamber, to convince
himself that they were alone. He saw no one; the faint light showed
only the pale features of the dying one pressed against the pillow. It
was not possible that any one could be there! Old Ursula, the only
other occupant of the house, had retired to the kitchen to weep and
lament; and having passed directly up from the front door to the
sick-room, he was ignorant of the presence of others in the dwelling.
Then Jonathan gave free play to his wild rage. "Murderer of your
wife?" he said scornfully. "Fool! if it had been only the drops you
gave her, she would be alive now; but nothing could have saved her. In
the hurry of that night, Thomas, being just roused from sleep, gave you
the other man's medicine, and handed yours to him. What you had was
only good for infants; and Sister Julie might have drunk the whole
bottleful without injury."
Mauer's gaze wandered uncertainly towards the speaker; a shudder passed
over his dying form, and his brain made a powerful effort to penetrate
the mists gathering over it.
"I did not kill Julie, and you knew it and never told me?" he
stammered, with fast-failing voice.
"Certainly I knew it; but did you ever ask me about it? The other man
had more forethought than you, and read the label before administering
the dose to his child; and when he saw the name, he brought it back at
once. It was two hours before he could get to my house again, and then
Thomas had to prepare fresh medicine. Then I took the opium-drops
intended for Sister Julie, and jumped on my horse; for although I knew
she never could recover, I wanted to fulfil my duty as a physician, and
do all I could to correct my servant's mistake. But I found her
already dead; yes, from all appearances she must have been dead several
hours. When I asked how that could have resulted from the drops, and
saw your disturbed countenance, and how you became pale and faint, I
thought you must have meditated the death of your wife, and with such
design had given her a double dose which you intended should be fatal.
I put the vial in my pocket, so that my servant's blunder might not be
brought up against him or me. But Mauer," cried Jonathan, in a voice
of frenzy, "when I stood by Don Manuel's death-bed and discovered your
guilty love for Inez, while your wife stood in your way, everything
became clear to me."
"You knew, Brother Jonathan, that I was bearing all the tortures of
remorse, and yet gave me no word of explanation?" whispered the unhappy
victim.
"That is not surprising. Do you know what hate is? You knew that I
loved Inez. Can you imagine how I must have hated you who robbed me of
her?" continued Jonathan, pitilessly.
"Yes, I knew you looked on yourself as a murderer! It answered my
purpose not to have you think otherwise. It was sweet to me to see how
this thought tortured you; it was a great satisfaction to know I held
you in my power, like a butterfly on a needle, which it cannot get away
from, and yet which remains quiescent and kills it painfully and
slowly. Do you think I would not have brought you to justice if it had
been true? Surely I would not have failed to do it; but Thomas, who
knew all the circumstances and was with me in the mission, is here; he
would have witnessed against me, had I accused you before the public.
But I knew how to revenge myself on you for having stolen Inez from me,
and for refusing me Carmen's hand. Your life must pay for Inez; your
death will rob Carmen, as you have willed away your fortune from her
for your supposed crime and left it to our community. Thus you will
die at last, filled with regret at having wasted a life in unnecessary
penance, and your silent lips will now take the old, dark story into
the grave. I, however, will always feel an inward sense of triumph and
delight that it was my foot which crushed you!"
He was silent, and stood with folded arms, looking down gloatingly on
Mauer. He did not observe that in the shadow between the wall and the
bed a head was raised. Suddenly a dark form rose, shadowy and
indistinct. Jonathan grew pale. "Inez!" he gasped, and shrank back.
"No. Carmen; who has heard your cruel words, so that the silent lips
shall not take the dark story of your wickedness to the grave. Wretch!
devil incarnate! Can the earth hold such infamous scum? and has Heaven
no lightning with which to strike you dead? Oh, father, my poor,
persecuted father! There are no words to tell what you have suffered
through this man!" And she threw herself again by the bed, and cast
her arms about her dying parent.
But a glorious light of heavenly peace had settled on those pale
features. With newly-acquired strength, he returned his daughter's
embrace, raised his hands, and cried with accents of joy: "Child,
rejoice, praise the Lord with me, for your father can now appear before
his Judge, innocent of this crime. Blessed be God forever--amen!"
He stretched out his arms and sank back; one more sigh, as if the
liberated soul were unfolding its wings to be borne on the breeze to
heaven, and he lay still and peaceful in his daughter's arms.
With heart-rending sobs, she rained kisses on his hands, his lips, his
brow; then closing his weary eyes, she whispered tenderly, amid
scalding tears, "Dear father, sleep sweetly; you have earned it well!"
Some movement in the chamber of death attracted Carmen's notice,
despite her overwhelming sorrow. She started up quickly. Who dared to
intrude upon her thus? It was Jonathan, who was trying to make his
escape from the room.
"Jonathan Fricke!" she cried, drawing herself up to her full height and
at her call he seemed as if rooted to the ground. She passed around
the bed, stepped to the table, and moved the lamp so as to throw a
brighter light over the calm, placid features of the dead, around whose
mouth a happy smile still lingered.
"Look on that face!" she said in a voice of command. Her face was all
ablaze with righteous indignation, and she stood menacingly, but
wondrously beautiful, before him, like an avenging angel ready to
plunge the criminal down into the depths of hell.
"Do you see this holy, peaceful rest? Will you be able, some day, to
lie down thus when the Lord demands an account of your life? You turn
away your eyes, but you will never succeed in banishing the image of
this face from your memory; it will haunt you wherever you go, by day
and by night; its perpetual presence will be my father's revenge here
below, and his accusation above, before the throne of judgment."
Humiliated and cowed, Jonathan stood motionless before the scathing
contempt of this noble woman.
"Do not think my father concealed his fault from me," she continued,
her voice growing deeper and more threatening, as if the indignation
surging up within her had lent it new power. "I know everything. I
know how it happened; that, in a moment of weakness and temptation, the
evil spirit drew near and enticed him. But he sinned in thought only;
the All-merciful prevented the deed. How does his sin compare with
yours, in the eyes of the One above?"
"I beseech you," began Jonathan in a cringing tone, "do not expose me
to the community."
"Go!" she replied. "I will cast no slur on my father's memory by
accusing you. Vengeance belongs to God alone."
She began to feel her strength giving way. The terrible agitation of
her soul had exhausted her powers. At that moment she looked towards
the open door which led to the next room, and saw Alexander and Agatha.
She put her hands out to her husband as if seeking support and comfort
and as he hastened towards her, she sank half-fainting on his breast.
"Carmen, my darling, my precious wife, this is a heavy sorrow which you
have borne so long!" he said gently.
Agatha approached the bed and laid a linen cloth over the face of the
one who had found rest at last.
"Carmen," she said, "your accusation is not needed. I will witness
before the elders against this man, that he may no longer remain among
us with his hypocritical piety and humility."
Jonathan looked at her bewildered.
"Is hell let loose?" he exclaimed, stamping his foot with rage. "Have
you all conspired to destroy me?"
"Disturb not the dead with your unseemly words!" commanded Agatha. "To
him mercy will be shown; but you, Jonathan, will be condemned here and
in the world to come. Go!" She pointed to the door. He attempted to
answer, but she cut his words short and repeated her command, "Go!"
After a moment's hesitation he disappeared out into the darkness.
Shortly after this dreadful scene, the sound of the trumpets announced
to the people that Brother Mauer was dead; and soon it was noised
abroad that Brother Jonathan had committed a great crime against the
deceased, and the council of elders were seeking for him, to bring him
to justice and punishment. Great excitement followed among these quiet
Moravians, but Brother Jonathan was nowhere to be found. His
disappearance was considered a proof of his guilt, and wherever the
Brothers were stationed, in all parts of the world, notice was sent to
them of Jonathan's crime, so that he would not be able to impose
himself upon them, anywhere, as a Brother. He was publicly expelled
from the faith, and it was decided by the council that the money left
by the departed to his brethren, as an atonement for his sin, should be
transferred to his daughter; but the Trautenaus preferred to let it go
where the will had provided it should.
* * * * * *
With the first snow which fell about this time, a long and severe
winter set in, which held the world bound for several months in ice and
snow. But at last the mild south wind blew with its life-giving
breath, and melted the icy mantle which had enveloped all things.
The thawed waters of the alder-pond then gave up from its depths a
disfigured corpse, which had been concealed beneath its frozen surface
during the severe season. It was the body of Brother Jonathan Fricke.
The worthy laborer who chanced to find it was impressed with the idea
that Jonathan had sought for salvation in its waters.
Had the guilt-laden man lost his way in the fogs of winter, and met his
death by accident, or was he driven thither by a torturing conscience?