Part 75 (1/2)
Trembling, she sank beside Ludwig, and pressed her forehead, bedewed with cold perspiration, against his arm.
All bared their heads and prayed in a low tone. Madeleine's breast heaved in mortal anguish and, almost stifled by her suppressed tears, she could only falter, half unconsciously: ”Have pity upon us!”
Meanwhile the doctor had made all necessary preparations and was waiting for the patient to wake in order to remove him to his home.
The murmured prayers had ceased and the friends gathered silently around the bed. The countess again knelt beside the invalid, clasping him in a gentle embrace. Her tears were now checked lest she might disturb him, but they continued to flow in her heart. Her lips rested on his hand in a long kiss--the hand which had once supported and guided her now lay pale and thin on the coverlet, as if it would never more have strength to clasp hers with a loving pressure.
”Are you weeping, dear wife?”
That voice! She raised her head, but could not meet the eyes which gazed at her so tenderly. Dared _she_, the condemned one, enjoy the bliss of that look? No, never! And, without raising an eyelash, she hid her guilty brow with unutterable tenderness upon his breast. The feeble hand was raised and gently stroked her cheek, touching it as lightly as a withered leaf.
”Do not weep!” he whispered with the voice of a consoling angel: ”Be calm--G.o.d is good, He will be merciful to us also.”
Oh, trumpet of the Judgment Day, what is thy blare to the sinner, compared to the gentle words of pardoning love from a wounded breast?
The countess was overpowered by the mild, merciful judgment.--
A living lane had formed in front of the theatre. He was to be carried home, rumor said, and the people were waiting in a dense throng to see him. At last a movement ran through the ranks. ”He is coming! Is he alive? Yes, they say he is!”
Slowly and carefully the men bore out the litter on which he lay, pale and motionless as a dead man. The pastor walked on one side, and on the other, steadying his head, the countess. She could scarcely walk, but she did not avert her eyes from him.
As on the way to Golgotha, low sobs greeted the little procession. ”Oh, dear, poor fellow! Ah, just one look, one touch of the hand,” the people pleaded. ”Wait just one moment.”
As if by a single impulse the bearers halted and the people pressed forward with throbbing hearts, modestly, reverently touching the hanging coverlet, and gazing at him with tearful eyes full of unutterable grief.
The countess, with a beautiful impulse of humanity, gently drew his hand from under the wraps and held it to the sorrowing spectators who had waited so long, that they might kiss it--and every one who could get near enough eagerly drank from the proffered beaker of love.
Grateful eyes followed the countess and she felt their benediction with the joy of the saints when G.o.d lends their acts the power of divine grace. She was now a beggar, yet never before had she been rich enough to bestow such alms: ”Yes, kiss his hand--he deserves it!” she whispered, and her eyes beamed with a love which was not of this earth, yet which blended _her_, the world, and everything it contained into a single, vast, fraternal community!
Freyer smiled at her--and now she bore the sweet, tender gaze, for she felt as if a time might come when she would again deserve it.
At last they reached the pretty quiet house where she had that morning hired lodgings for him and herself. Mourning love had followed him to the spot, the throng had increased so that the bearers could scarcely get in with the litter. ”Farewell--poor sufferer, may G.o.d be with you,”
fell from every lip as he was borne in and the door closed behind him.
The s.p.a.cious room on the lower floor received the invalid. The landlady had hurriedly prepared the bed and he was laid in it. As the soft pillows arranged by careful hands yielded to the weary form, and his wife bent over him, supporting his head on her arm--he glanced joyously around the circle, unable to think or say anything except: ”Oh, how comfortable I am!” They turned away to hide their emotion.
The countess laid her head on the pillow beside him, no longer restraining her tears, and murmuring in his ear: ”Angel, you modest, forgiving, loving angel!” She was silent--forcing herself to repress the language of her heart, for the cry of her remorse might disturb the feeble invalid. Yet he felt what moved her, he had always read her inmost soul so long as she loved him--not until strangers came between them did he fail to comprehend her. Now he felt what she must suffer in her remorse and pitied her torture, he thought only of how he might console her. But this moved her more than all the reproaches he had a right to make, for the greater, the more n.o.ble his nature revealed itself to be the greater her guilt became!
The friends were to take turns in helping the countess watch the invalid through the night, and now left him. The doctor said that there was no immediate danger and went away to get more medicines. When all had gone, she knelt beside the bed and said softly, ”Now I am yours! I do not ask whether you will forgive me, for I see that you have already done so--I ask only whether you will again take the condemned, sin-laden woman to your heart? In my deed today I chose the fate of poverty. I can offer you nothing more in worldly wealth, I can only provide you with a simple home, work for you, nurse you, and atone by lifelong love and fidelity for the wrong I have done you. Will you be content with that?”
Freyer drew her toward him with all his feeble strength. Tears of unutterable happiness were trickling down his cheeks. ”I thank Thee, G.o.d, Thou has given her to me to-day for the first time! Come, my wife--place your fate trustfully in G.o.d's hands and your dear heart in mine, and all will be well. He will be merciful and suffer me to live a few years that I may work for you, not you for me. Oh, blissful words, work for my wife, they make me well again. And now, while we are alone, the first sacred kiss of conjugal love!”
He tried to raise his head, but she pressed it with gentle violence back upon the pillow. ”No, you must keep perfectly quiet. Imagine that you are a marble statue--and let me kiss you. Remain cold and let all the fervor of a repentant, loving heart pour itself upon you.” She stooped and touched his pale mouth gently, almost timidly, with her quivering lips.
”Oh, that was again an angel's kiss!” he murmured, clasping his hands over the head bowed in penitent humility.
CHAPTER XL.
NEAR THE GOAL.