Part 24 (1/2)

Then, finding I made no answer, he paused in his work, and said, quickly:--

”What is the matter? Is she ill?”

I shook my head.

”No,” I said, ”she is not ill.”

”Where is she, then?”

”She is not ill,” I said, again, ”but--she is not here.”

And then I told him.

He heard me out in dead silence, never moving so much as a finger, only growing whiter as I went on. Then, when I had done, he went over to the window, and remained standing with his back towards me for some minutes.

”And you?” he said, presently, still without turning his head. ”And you--through all these weeks--you never saw or suspected anything?”

”I feared--I was not sure--”

He turned upon me with a terrible pale anger in his face.

”You feared--you were not sure!” he said, slowly. ”That is to say, you saw it going on, and let it go on, and would not put out your hand to save us all! False! false! false!--all false together--false love, false brother, false friend!”

”You are not just to me, Ulrich,” I said; for to be called false by him was more than I could bear.

”Am I not just? Then I pray that G.o.d will be more just to you, and to them, than I can ever be; and that His justice may be the justice of vengeance--swift, and terrible, and without mercy.”

And saying this he laid his hand on the veiled Christ, and cursed us all three with a terrible, pa.s.sionate curse, like the curse of a prophet of old.

For one moment my heart stood still, and I felt as if there was nothing left for me but to die--but it was only for that one moment; for I knew, even before he had done speaking, that no words of his could harm either my poor little erring Katrine or myself. And then, having said so as gently as I could, I formally forgave him in her name and mine, and went away.

That night Ulrich Finazzer shut up his house and disappeared, no one knew whither. When I questioned the old woman who lived with him as servant, she said that he had paid and dismissed her a little before dusk; that she then thought he was looking very ill, and that she had observed how, instead of being as usual hard at work all day in the workshop, he had fetched his gun out of the kitchen about two o'clock, and carried it up to his bedroom, where, she believed, he had spent nearly all the afternoon cleaning it. This was all she had to tell; but it was more than enough to add to the burden of my terrors.

Oh, the weary, weary time that followed--the long, sad, solitary days--the days that became weeks--the weeks that became months--the Autumn that chilled and paled as it wore on towards Winter--the changing wood--the withering leaves--the snow that whitened daily on the great peaks round about! Thus September and October pa.s.sed away, and the last of the harvest was gathered in, and November came with bitter winds and rain; and save a few hurried lines from Katrine, posted in Perugia, I knew nothing of the fate of all whom I had loved and lost.

”We were married,” she wrote, ”in Venice, and Alois talks of spending the Winter in Rome. I should be perfectly happy if I knew that you and Ulrich had forgiven us.”

This was all. She gave me no address; but I wrote to her at the Poste Restante Perugia, and again to the Poste Restante, Rome; both of which letters, I presume, lay unclaimed till destroyed by the authorities, for she never replied to either.

And now the Winter came on in earnest, as Winter always comes in our high valleys, and Christmas-time drew round again; and on the eve of St.

Thomas, Ulrich Finazzer returned to his house as suddenly and silently as he had left it.

Next door neighbours as we were, we should not have known of his return but for the trampled snow upon the path, and the smoke going up from the workshop chimney. No other sign of life or occupation was to be seen.

The shutters remained unopened. The doors, both front and back, remained fast locked. If any neighbour knocked, he was left to knock unanswered.

Even the old woman who used to be his servant, was turned away by a stern voice from within, bidding her begone and leave him at peace.

That he was at work was certain; for we could hear him in the workshop by night as well as by day. But he could work there as in a tomb, for the room was lighted by a window in the roof.