Cushion-Kate had hurried through the village to the pastor's house near
the church. She rang the bell violently. The pastor looked out, and
asked, "Who is ringing? Have you come for me to take the sacrament to a
dying person?"
"Pastor," shrieked Cushion-Kate, "tell me, is there a God in heaven? Is
there justice?"
"Who are you that dare blaspheme so? All good spirits praise the Lord
our God. Who are you?"
"The mother, the mother whose son was murdered; and the murderer is
acquitted."
"Is it you, Cushion-Kate? Wait; I will open the door." The pastor
opened it, but Cushion-Kate was no longer there. He went to the
churchyard, to Vetturi's grave. There he found her red kerchief, but
she had disappeared.
In mad haste, as though driven by invisible demons, Cushion-Kate ran
through fields and forest, down to the river. There she stood, on a
projecting rock, under which the water boiled and bubbled as though
imprisoned. The whirlpool is called the "Devil's Kettle." Cushion-Kate
leaned forward, and was about to throw herself in; but when her hands
touched her head, and she became aware that her kerchief was missing,
her self-control returned, and sitting down she said as she looked up
to the sky:
"Mother, I feel it again. I, under your heart, and you, with a straw
wreath round your head, and a straw girdle round your waist,--that was
the world's justice to the poor unfortunate. Mother, you are now in the
presence of eternal justice. Don't let Him turn you away! And Thou, on
Thy throne in Heaven, answer me. Tell me, why is my son dead? Why hast
Thou let the man that killed him go free, and live in happiness? Thou
hast given me nothing in all the world; and I ask for nothing but that
Thou shouldst punish him, and all those who acquitted him. Let no tree
grow in their forest, nor corn in their fields. Torment them; or if
Thou in Heaven above wilt not help me, then he, the other one, from
below, shall! Yes, come from the water, come from the rocks; come,
devil, and help me! Make a witch of me. I'll be a witch. Take my poor
soul, but help me!"
A night-owl rose silently from out the darkness. Cushion-Kate beckoned
to it, as though it were a messenger from him whom she had called. The
owl flew past; a train of cars rushed by on the other side of the
river. Cushion-Kate shrieked, but her cry was drowned in the clatter of
the cars. She sank down--she slept. When the day awoke and shone in her
face, she turned over with a groan, and slept on with her face to the
ground.
"Wake up! How came you here?" called a man's voice.
Cushion-Kate opened her eyes, and drawing her hands over her forehead,
she moaned out, "Vetturi!"
"No; it is I, Anton Armbruster. See, here is some gin. Come, drink!"
Cushion-Kate drank eagerly, then asked:
"Do you know that he is acquitted?"
"Yes; I have just come from the trial."
"Oh, yes," cried Cushion-Kate, and she struck Anton on the breast with
her bony fist. "Yes, you too are----. They say you testified that he
did not do it."
"Kate, you have a strong hand. You hurt me, but I forgive you. Kate, I
did not testify falsely. I said honestly that I saw nothing that
happened plainly."
"And why was he acquitted?"
"Because six men said not guilty. Come, raise yourself up. There!"
The old woman rose to her feet. She held her left hand to her head, and
her dishevelled grey hair fluttered in the morning wind. She looked
around in bewilderment, and seemed unable to collect her thoughts.
"Some one has stolen my kerchief from my head," she said at length.
"Stop; it must be lying on his grave. Yes, he is in his grave, and the
man who brought him to his death is free--I understand it all. I am not
crazed. I know you. You are Anton; and your mother, in heaven, kept
your tongue from lying. Thank God, you no longer belong to that family.
They must go to ruin--all of them. The haughty Thoma, too. Great God,"
she cried, clasping her hands, "forgive me! Thou art a patient
creditor, but a sure payer. You need not lead me, Anton; I can go
alone--alone."
When Anton offered to accompany her, she motioned him back, and went
through the woods, over the hill, to the village, gathering dry twigs
on her way.
For a long time Anton stood gazing after her. He would so liked to have
hastened to Thoma, but he overcame the impulse, and wandered homeward.