Two hours later Boleslav quitted the gaping crowd, who glowered at him
with a sort of stony superstitious awe, as if he were a magician, and
as he crossed the open common he felt as if he had just left a cage of
wild beasts, the duty of taming which, had fallen to his share. The
danger seemed safely over for the present. "Having mastered them
to-day, they won't dare to mutiny to-morrow," he thought, and revelled
in the joyous sensation of having won a victory.
Now he had only to take leave of Regina, and his troubles would be at
an end. The world was all before him once more; an unknown future
seemed to be enticing him onwards with bugle-peals and battle-cries.
"Regina! now for Regina!" welled up in him with such jubilation, from
the depths of his soul, that he was frightened at himself. He took a
round by the wood before approaching the Cats' Bridge, to brace and
harden his nerves for this last and most arduous encounter.
The sun pierced the topmost boughs of the trees. Over the tender young
green of the meadows floated a shadowy haze, and an odour of fermenting
slime rose from the damp ditches. Only the fir-wood looked as dark and
mysterious as in winter, with scarcely a light-green spike peeping
anywhere from its black, bare branches.
He threw himself on the mossy ground and watched the sunbeams glint
through the purple haze that hung over the surrounding thicket.
Once again he reviewed the daring enterprise of the last few hours, and
the thickly curtained windows of the parsonage recurred to his memory.
How careful she had been to keep herself out of his sight and reach,
and how well she had succeeded! Surely she must know what had brought
him into the village--must know that to-morrow he would quit it,
perhaps never to return.
Had she no longing to see him just once before his departure, and to
wish him God speed? The hour she had told him to wait patiently for,
was it not time it came to-day? What availed the letter he wore close
to his heart, if the hand that penned it was refused to him? Her image
was now quite effaced from his heart; it could no longer lead him to
battle, unless the impression was renewed.
"If she loves me, she will send for me. If she doesn't send for me, she
must be lost to me for ever."
Having arrived at this conclusion he left the wood and bent his
footsteps in the direction of the river. The park, in its new spring
dress of lightest green, smiled him a welcome. A shimmering crown of
silver rested on the tall poplars, and the dark masses of ivy glistened
on their slender trunks.
How beautiful was this home, that had been a source of such infinite
pain and sorrow! How his whole being yearned for that impoverished
dwelling where he had lodged like a criminal! Was this longing owing to
the woman who had voluntarily shared his loneliness and wretchedness,
and who had tried to make her own misery the foundation of a new
happiness for him?
But he had no reason to fear what was to come. He felt that since the
Fatherland had summoned him, he was safe from all weak and vicious
instincts. Even long before this he believed he had completely freed
himself from her influence. Their relations now were merely those of
master and servant.
One more night, and the priest's curse would be remembered only as an
old man's idle babble. Yet what would become of her? She must look
after herself. He had provided for her future. No one could say he was
bound to do more. And to-day he would renew his bounty twofold or
threefold, so that she would stand in the position of a wealthy widow.
When thousands of women and children would perish of hunger in
broken-hearted distress, without any one heeding their fate, why should
he concern himself so much about deserting this one strange girl and
leaving her in solitude?
He steeled and hardened his heart, for it had begun to beat faster....
And as he mounted the steep ascent to the Cats' Bridge, he caught sight
of the familiar figure among the bushes above, illumined by the setting
sun.
"Regina," he called. But she did not move.
"Come and meet me, Regina!"
Then with elevated shoulders she slowly glided nearer, the fingers of
her left hand outspread, and pressed against her breast.
He looked at her, and was horrified. "My God!" he exclaimed, "how
changed you are!"
Her appearance was wild and distraught in the extreme. Her clothes were
torn, her hair, which under the frequent use of the comb had begun to
fall into such splendid glossy waves, once more hung over her forehead
and cheeks in a shaggy, unkempt mass. Her eyes shone with feverish,
almost uncanny lustre from dark-blue cavities, and she dared not raise
them to his.
"She is pining away," something cried in him. "She will die, because of
you." He took hold of her hand and it lay limply in his palm.
"Regina, do speak. Aren't you glad that I've come back?"
She ducked her head, as she had been in the habit of doing when she
instinctively expected blows instead of kind words.
He stroked her rough, dry hair. "Poor thing!" he said. "You must have
had a dreadfully dull time of it, with not a human soul to speak
to----"
She shrank from his touch and was still silent.
"Why did you not write and tell me that you found it so terribly
lonely?"
She shook her head, and then said timidly, "It wasn't the loneliness."
"What was it then?"
She looked at him nervously and said nothing.
"Well, what was it?"
"I ... I thought ... you weren't coming back."
"But, you foolish girl, didn't I write and say I was?"
"Yes, you wrote and said, 'I am coming perhaps in about ten days,' and
I went to the Cats' Bridge, and there I waited day and night-day and
night--but you didn't come. And then three weeks afterwards you wrote
again, 'I shall come home perhaps in about ten days.' And you never
came, and then I thought you were only putting me off with promises ...
so as not to break it to me suddenly that you weren't coming back at
all. And I thought you repented being good to me, because I didn't
deserve it, and because I----" She broke off and buried her face for a
moment in her hands.
"But your letter was so sensible."
"Yes, _Herr_," she faltered. "Would it have done for _me_ to write
differently?"
He bit his lip, and stared before him into the lacework of the young
green foliage. Did she suspect what would befall her in a few hours?
"But now all is right again, isn't it?" he asked unsteadily.
With a cry she sank on the ground, and clinging to his knees exclaimed,
"Yes, oh yes, _Herr_. When you are here everything is right, everything
is different. If you were to go away again, _Herr_, what should I do?"
No, she suspected nothing. The heaviest, most crushing blow of all was
in store for her. He felt as if there were a thunderbolt concealed in
his sleeve, which the next time he stirred would descend and shatter
her to fragments. But he had still time to dispose of as he pleased. A
few hours to devote to this poor creature, in which to revive and make
her happy again before signing her death-warrant, and in which she
would unconsciously gather up strength for the ordeal.
"Stand up, Regina," he said gently. "Let us enjoy ourselves, and not
think of the future."
Then they walked side by side through the dusky garden, the neatly kept
paths of which were strewn with white gravel, and skirted, like
glittering rivulets, the smooth turf. The shrubs exhaled an
indescribable fragrance, the breath of spring mingled with the scent of
dying things, and in the tree-tops that waved above their heads, they
heard the subdued whispering twitter of home-coming birds.
"How beautifully everything has come out here since I went away!" he
exclaimed.
"Yes, _Herr_," she answered. "It has never been so beautiful as it is
now."
"It has become so all at once?" he asked, smiling. He looked at her
sideways and noticed the hollows in her cheeks. But an exquisite colour
was already tinging them.
She has begun to live again, he thought to himself, and it seemed as if
the next few hours were to be the last vouchsafed to him too of a
vanishing happiness.
"In spite of everything, you have worked hard," he said, striving to
retain his tone of condescending patronage, and he pointed to the neat
borders in which auriculas and primroses were planted.
She gave a proud little laugh. "I thought to myself you should find
everything in order if you _did_ come back, _Herr_."
"But you have neglected yourself, Regina. How is that?"
She turned her face away, blushing hotly.
"Shall I tell the truth, _Herr_?" she stammered.
"Of course," he said.
"I thought ... I ... was ... going to die ... and so ... it wouldn't
matter."
He was silent. It was as if she poured forth an ocean of infinite love
with every word, and that its waves rolled over him.
The lawn on the farther side of the Castle, sloping gently down to the
park, now opened before his gaze. There stood the weather-beaten socket
of the Goddess Diana's pedestal. Regina had collected the pieces and
put them together again, but the torso had been beyond her strength to
lift, and it lay in the grass, while the head, with its blank white
eyes, looked down on it. A few steps farther on, a dark four-cornered
patch stood out in relief from the emerald turf. That was the spot
where he had first seen her busily employed in digging a grave for her
seducer, whom every one else refused to bury.
"I left it as it was--in memory of me," she said apologetically,
pointing to the turned-up clods that, now overgrown with grass, had
joined and formed a bank.
Then they walked on towards the undergrowth that surrounded the cottage
like a thick hedge.
"And I have mended the glass roof too," she said.
"Ah! indeed!"
Their eyes met for a moment, and then they both quickly looked in front
of them again. There was an aspect of peaceful welcome about the little
house. Its window panes had caught a ray of the departing sunlight,
while all else lay buried in deepest shadow.
A sense of contentment at being at home, and of gladness that this was
his home, overcame him, and for a moment allayed his gnawing
restlessness.
"Go," he said, "and cook me something for supper; I am hungry and
exhausted after a long ride."
He remembered his horse for the first time, and wondered where it had
galloped to. Then the next instant he forgot it again.
"And make yourself neat," he continued. "I should like you to look your
best when you come to table."
"Yes, _Herr_--I'll try."
They separated in the vestibule. He went into the sitting-room, and she
to her kitchen. He threw himself with a deep sigh on the sofa, that
creaked beneath his weight. Everything seemed the same as on the night
he had left it, except that the curtain had been taken away from the
corner by the stove, and the couch removed; the portrait of his
grandmother, too, had disappeared. The shot which grazed Regina's neck
had proved its final destruction, and reduced it to ribbons.
One of the windows was open. The strange perfume of fermenting earth,
which to-day he could not get out of his nostrils, flooded the
apartment. But here it might possibly come from a lime heap, which had
been shovelled up at the gable end of the house.
From minute to minute his unrest increased. Why shorten for him and her
the all too scanty time? He could tolerate solitude no longer, and got
up with the intention of going into the kitchen, but when on the
threshold he saw her cowering on the hearth with naked shoulders,
mending her jacket by the firelight,--he retreated, shocked. But in a
few seconds she came herself to open the door to him, fully dressed.
"Is there anything I can do for you, _Herr_?" she asked respectfully.
"Show me where you have repaired the roof," he replied, not being able
to think of anything else to say. He praised her work, without looking
at it. Then he took up a position on the hearth and stared at the
tongues of flame in the grate. By this time it was nearly dark, and the
firelight flickered on the rush walls.
"I'll help you to cook," he said.
"Ah, _Herr_! You are laughing at me," she answered. But her face
lighted up with pleasure.
"What am I to have for supper?"
"There isn't much in the house, _Herr_. Eggs and fried ham--a fresh
salad--and that's all."
"I shall thank God if I----" he stopped abruptly.
He had nearly betrayed the secret of which as yet she had no suspicion,
and she should not, must not, suspect anything. Till the dawn of
to-morrow her felicity should last.
"Very well, make haste," he laughed, while his throat contracted in
anxious suspense, "else I shall expire of hunger."
"The water must boil first, _Herr_."
"All right, we'll wait, then." He squatted on one of the wooden boxes.
"And, Regina," he went on, "come here; do you know I am not satisfied
with your appearance even now? Your hair----"
"I've not had time to comb it yet, _Herr_."
"Comb it now at once, then."
She flashed at him a look of shy entreaty.
"While you are here, _Herr_?" she asked hesitatingly.
"Why not? Have you become prudish all in a minute?"
"It wasn't that----"
"Then don't stand on ceremony."
She went into the far corner of the apartment, where her bed stood, and
with a quick movement loosened the floating wealth of tresses till they
hung below her hips. In the middle of her combing, aware that his eyes
were fixed on her in admiration, she suddenly spread out her arms, as
if overcome with shame and joy, and threw herself on her knees by the
bed, burying her face in the pillows.
He waited silently till she got up. When her hair was done she went to
the hearth and busied herself among the pots and kettles, without
looking at him.
"Tell me, Regina, what have you been doing with yourself all this
time?"
She shook her head. "Bockeldorf was the same as ever; besides the
grocer and his wife, I never saw a single soul. During the floods I
didn't go once down to the village. As I told you in my letter, I had
to starve for a time, but I didn't mind. And then, during the last few
weeks, some letters have come, from Wartenstein, and Koenigsberg
too--and to-day one--from----"
"Ah, never mind! I'll look at them later, when you've brought some
light."
What concern had he with the outer world to-day, when he had burnt the
bridges that connected him with his past, and nothing remained of all
he had suffered and lived through?
Then when the supper table was spread, and the lamp shone at him from
Regina's hand, he crossed over with her to the sitting-room.
"You have not laid a place for yourself," he remarked.
"May I, _Herr_?"
"Of course you may."
"And, _Herr_, what wine?"
He drew a long breath--"None!"
And so once more they sat opposite each other in the soft lamp-light,
as they had so often done on winter evenings, when the snow was driven
against the window panes, and gales shook the roof and rattled in the
beams. Now grey moths flapped gently to and fro, bringing with them
into the room whiffs of the balmy outer air, and the rising moon, which
was full for the first time since Easter, shimmered through the young
foliage.
He pushed his plate away. Not a morsel could he eat. The precaution of
leaving the wine in the cellar had done no good, for the excitement he
had wished to shun was, notwithstanding, creeping over him. He took a
stolen glance at Regina, and trembled. Her eyes rested on him in such a
transport of happiness, that she seemed oblivious of everything in
heaven and earth, except the fact that he was sitting near her. Every
trace of sorrow and distress had vanished from her face as if by magic.
Its curves had taken a new roundness, a new freshness bloomed in her
cheeks. But what struck him as most lovely in her, was the languorous,
yielding tenderness of her whole being, as if she had loosened herself
from the trammels of earth and floated in space.
"Regina," he whispered. His heart seemed throbbing violently in his
throat. A voice of warning rose within him, saying, "Take care. Be on
your guard--this is the last time she will lead you into temptation."
"The last time!" came a melancholy echo.
"Yes; she will die--perish of heart-sickness and unsatisfied longing."
The scar on his under-lip began to burn.
"Take her in your arms and then kill her; that will save her all
further misery," was the next thought that rushed through his brain.
"But it would be literal madness to do such a thing," he added to
himself, shuddering.
And again their eyes met and sank in each other's depths. Their souls
knew of no resistance, even though their bodies still sought
despairingly for weapons of defence.
"Save yourself!" cried that warning voice again. "Think of the curse!
Keep yourself pure and unspotted for the Fatherland!"
He tried to think of words to speak that would break the spell of
blissful enchantment; but none would occur to him. Then he rose and
walked to the open window to bathe his hot brow in the cool night air.
"Speak--act--end this silence," he exhorted himself. He thought of the
letters she had spoken of.
"Give me the letters," he said. His voice sounded harsh.
She fetched a packet of white covers, which she laid by his plate. He
opened the first he came to, and stared vacantly at the unfolded sheet.
Would it not be better to allude now to the unavoidable? Why spare her
allusion to a parting which was inevitable? But he put the idea from
him in horror. "Till midnight she shall be happy. Take her in your
arms, and then----"
"His Hochwohlgeboren the Freiherr Boleslav von Schranden is hereby
informed that his appeal for an inquiry into the causes and events
which eventually led to the destruction by fire of Castle Schranden, on
the 6th of March 1809, is receiving attention, and that a day has been
appointed for----"
With a discordant laugh he tossed the communication to one side, and
fumbled for the next letter. His eye fell on Helene's handwriting. A
feeling almost of aversion shot through him. What did she want now? Why
disturb him at this the eleventh hour?
"My Dearest Boleslav,--I can't let you go to the war again without once
seeing and speaking to you. I beg and implore you to meet me this
evening at nine o'clock, near the churchyard side-gate, where I will
wait for you.--Your Helene."
"Why not before," he murmured, "when there was plenty of time to
spare?" Then suddenly it flashed across him that again in an hour of
danger his guardian angel had put forth her rescuing hand to him, and
that it would be criminal folly on his part to disregard the sign, and
not respond to the summons.
"You must--you must," he said to himself, "or you won't be worth the
cannon-ball that at this moment is being cast for you in France."
Was it not a special dispensation of divine grace that the daughter
should intervene at such a perilous crisis as this to transform the
father's curse into a blessing? He looked at the clock. It wanted only
a few minutes to the hour mentioned. He dragged himself on to his feet.
"I must go down to the village," he said. "There is some one who wants
to see me." And though he avoided meeting her eyes, her pathetic,
beseeching glance penetrated to his innermost soul.
"I shall soon be back," he stammered.
She folded her hands, and placed herself silently before him.
"What is it?" he asked.
She could hardly articulate her words.
"_Herr_! I am so frightened--I feel as if something dreadful was going
to happen!"
"Since when have you been given to presentiments?" he said, trying to
joke.
"I don't know-but I feel so strange, _Herr_! ... something in my
throat--as if ... Oh! I know it's stupid of me, but I pray you--not to
go--not to-night----"
He pushed her gently to one side. The hand that she stretched out to
hold him back fell helplessly.
"Please-please don't go! ... _Herr_!"
He set his teeth and went--went to his guardian angel.