Part 18 (1/2)
”Who are you that dare blaspheme so? All good spirits praise the Lord our G.o.d. Who are you?”
”The mother, the mother whose son was murdered; and the murderer is acquitted.”
”Is it you, Cus.h.i.+on-Kate? Wait; I will open the door.” The pastor opened it, but Cus.h.i.+on-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, Cus.h.i.+on-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.” Cus.h.i.+on-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. Cus.h.i.+on-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. Cus.h.i.+on-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.
Cus.h.i.+on-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!”
Cus.h.i.+on-Kate drank eagerly, then asked:
”Do you know that he is acquitted?”
”Yes; I have just come from the trial.”
”Oh, yes,” cried Cus.h.i.+on-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 G.o.d, you no longer belong to that family.
They must go to ruin--all of them. The haughty Thoma, too. Great G.o.d,”
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.
CHAPTER x.x.xV.
For weeks Anton lived among the wood-cutters in the forest, high up on the mountain. He was one of the most diligent workers, from early morning until nightfall; and he was rewarded by having in the log cabin such a sound sleep as he could not have had in his father's house in the valley. To be sure, the wood-cutters thought it strange that the miller's only son should devote himself to such hard work and privation; but they asked no questions, and days often pa.s.sed without Anton's speaking a word. But he thought the oftener: How does Thoma live? She cannot, like me, find a new place for herself. She must stay at home, where everything awakens bitter recollections. Is she asked, as I am, by every one she meets, why our engagement has been broken off? And, like me, is she at a loss to know how to answer? Not the smallest lie escapes her lips, for she is honest and truthful. She demands that her father should confess what he has done, and submit to punishment. But, can her father confess what, perhaps, he has not done?