THE END OF THE STORY
“She had come out of the theatre with her victory fresh upon her.
The change from the glare of lights and the clamour of voices to the
darkness of the streets and her own solitude reminded her how little
that triumph meant to her. ‘He has forgotten,’ she said to herself
always. The purpose of her work, that she might be worthy of her
lover; the purpose of her suffering, that he might not suffer, guided
her no longer. She seemed to sink back to a world of misery and of
hopeless effort. The silence of the night reminded her that she was
without a friend in all the city. She had ever hungered for love; the
loveless childhood she had known had fed that hunger. Jézero had been
to her a garden of delight because love had built there arbours for
her, and she had rested in them. But now these were shut to her. She
recalled every word that Count Paul had spoken; his callousness, his
raillery, his restraint in avoiding any word of affection for her. She
knew instinctively that never more would she hear his voice or touch
his hand. She remembered that she must go back to a home which was
not a home; she thought of the man Klun, of his brutalities and his
persecutions. She asked herself to what end she had succeeded in the
theatre, had realised the visions of her childhood. Life could give her
nothing, since it did not give her love.
“These thoughts--the children of her melancholy--were hers until the
carriage set her down in the Wallner Strasse, and she ran up the stairs
to her apartments. She was a little surprised that Zol opened to her
knock; but surprise became fear when she saw his face and the blood
upon his hands. She had long looked upon the young hussar as a real
friend, though she was often ignorant of her own feeling in the matter.
But now when he stood before her, pale and bloody and trembling with
excitement, a great flood of affection for him rushed upon her, and she
seized both his hands.
“‘Zol,’ she cried, ‘tell me--what is it, Zol? You have hurt yourself!
Oh, my God! don’t look at me like that! Speak to me!’
“She said this, but her instinct--as the instinct of woman will in
moments of peril--told her something of the truth. She endeavoured to
pass into the boudoir, but he held her back, the blood from his hands
soiling her cloak.
“‘Christine,’ he exclaimed, ‘for God’s sake don’t--you must not go--I
will tell you----’
“But she had brushed past him, and a moment later her terrible cry told
him that she stood over the body of her husband. Excellency, who may
write of a moment like that?
* * * * *
“‘Zol,’ she said--ten minutes had been numbered then, and he had given
her the story--‘take me away from Vienna; oh, I can bear it no longer!
Zol, take me to Zlarin.’
“She said the words, and then lay almost inanimate in his arms, while
his lips were glued to hers and his limbs trembled against her own.
* * * * *
“Excellency, this is the story of Christine of the Hills. You have
seen the pavilion which Zol has built for her upon the island she has
learnt to love. They say that he has married her, and has no thought
but for her happiness. For myself, Christine is very good to me.
_Eccoli_, am I not her father? Did I not give her bread when all the
world cried upon her? Surely it is right that she should remember me
now when she has money beyond her wishes, and is the mistress of houses
and of servants.
“And she has forgotten, you ask--ah, who shall tell us that? Who shall
read the whole heart of a woman who has loved one man and has given
herself to another? Let us remember only that affection is about her
path; that she has come back from her dreaming to the island home where
the visions were given to her.
“And from the new dream of content, excellency, it is my prayer that
she will never wake.”
THE END.
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:
Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_.
Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.
Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.
Archaic or variant spelling has been retained.
The title of Chapter XIX, ANDREA GOES AN ERRAND, appears to be missing
a word, but has been transcribed as printed.