Part 67 (2/2)

Freyer shook his head. ”If Christ Himself should come from Heaven, He could not help me, at least except through my faith in Him.”

”Joseph, will you not go home with me? Look down yonder, there is my house. It is very pretty; come with me. I shall consider it an honor if you will stop there!” She led the way. Freyer involuntarily followed, and they soon reached the little house.

”Then you no longer live with your brother, the burgomaster?”

”Oh, no! After I grew older I longed for rest and solitude, and at my sister-in-law's there is always so much bustle on account of the shop and the children--one hears so many painful things said--” She paused in embarra.s.sment. Then opening the door into the little garden, they went to the rear of the house where they could sit on a bench undisturbed.

”What you heard was undoubtedly about me, and you could not endure it.

You faithful soul--was not that the reason you left your relatives and lived alone?” said Freyer, seating himself. ”Be frank--were you not obliged to hear many things against me, till you at last doubted your old schoolmate?”

”Yes--many evil things were said of you and the princess--but I never believed them. I do not know what happened, but whatever it was, _you_ did nothing wrong.”

”Mary, where did you obtain this confidence?”

”Why,” she answered smiling, ”surely I know my son--and what mother would distrust her _child_?”

Freyer was deeply moved: ”Oh, you virgin mother. Marvel of Heaven, when in the outside world a mother abandoned her own child--here a child was maturing into a mother for me, a mother who would have compa.s.sion on the deserted one. Mary, pure maid-servant of G.o.d, how have I deserved this mercy?”

”I always gave you a mother's love, from the time we played together, and I have mourned for you as a mother all the nine years. But I believed in you and hoped that you would some day return and close your old mother's eyes and, though twenty years had pa.s.sed, I should not have ceased to hope. I was right, and you have come! Ah! I would not let myself dream that I should ever play with you again in the Pa.s.sion--ever hold my Christus in my arms and support his weary head when he is taken down from the cross. That happiness transcends every other joy! True, I am an old maid now, and I wonder that they should let me take the part again. I am thirty-nine, you know, rather old for the Mary, yet I think it will be more natural, for Mary, too, was old when Christ was crucified!”

”Thirty-nine, and still unmarried--such a beautiful creature--how did that happen, Mary?”

She smiled: ”Oh, I did not wish to marry any one.--I could not care for any one as I did for my Christus!”

”Great Heaven, is this on my conscience too? A whole life wasted in silent hope, love, and fidelity to me--smiling and unreproachful! This soul might have been mine, this flower bloomed for me in the quiet home valley, and I left it to wither while searing heart and brain in the outside world. Mary, I will not believe that you have lost your life for my sake--you are still so beautiful, you will yet love and be happy at some good man's side.”

”Oh, no, what fancy have you taken into your head! That was over long ago,” she answered gayly. ”I am a year older than you--too old for a woman. Look, when the hair is grey, one no longer thinks of marrying.”

And pus.h.i.+ng back her thick brown hair from her temples, she showed beneath white locks--as white as snow!

”Oh, you have grown grey, perhaps for me--!” he said, deeply moved.

”Yes, maternal cares age one early.”

He flung himself in the gra.s.s before her, unable to speak. She pa.s.sed her hand gently over his bowed head: ”Ah, if my poor son had only returned a happy man--how my heart would have rejoiced. If you had brought back a dear wife from the city, I would have helped her, done the rough work to which she was not accustomed--and if you had had a child, how I would have watched and tended it! If it had been a boy, we would have trained him to be the Christus--would we not? Then for twenty years he could have played it--your image.”

Freyer started as though the words had pierced his inmost soul. She did not suspect it, and went on: ”Then perhaps the Christus might have descended from child to grandchild in your family--that would have been beautiful.”

He made no reply; a low sob escaped his breast.

”I have often imagined such things during the long years when I sat alone through the winter evenings! But unfortunately it has not resulted so! You return a poor lonely man--and silver threads are s.h.i.+ning in _your_ hair too. When I look at them, I long to weep. What did those wicked strangers in the outside world do to you, my poor Joseph, that you are so pale and ill? It seems as if they had crucified you and taken you down from the cross ere life had wholly departed; and now you could neither live nor die, but moved about like one half dead.

I fancy I can see your secret wounds, your poor heart pierced by the spear! Oh, my suffering child, rest your head once more on the knee of her who would give her heart's blood for you!” She gently drew his head down and placing one hand under it, like a soft cus.h.i.+on, lovingly stroked his forehead as if to wipe away the blood-stains of the crown of thorns, while tear after tear fell from her long lashes on her son--the son of a virgin mother.

Silence reigned around them--there was a rustling sound above their heads as if the wind was blowing through palms and cedars--a weeping willow spread its boughs above them, and from the churchyard wall the milkwort nodded a mute greeting from Golgotha.

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