Part 92 (1/2)

But she soon heard a voice that went to her heart. Colonel Bronnen had come from the capital to pay the last honors to Eberhard. He begged Irma--his powerful voice was thick with emotion--to permit him to mourn with her for the dead.

All her blood seemed to flow back to her heart. She opened the door and, through the darkness, held out her hand to her friend. He pressed it to his lips, and she heard the strong man weep. Suddenly, the thought flashed upon her that this man could save her, and that she could serve him, and look up to him. But how, could she dare?

”I thank you,” said she, at last. ”May it ever make you happy to know that you've been kind to the departed and to myself--”

Her voice faltered; she could say no more.

Bronnen departed, leaving her in the dark.

Irma was again alone.

The last stay left her was broken. Had she imagined that Bronnen had picked up fragments of a torn letter which he had found on the road, and that they were now in his pocket, she would have cried out for very shame.

One idea constantly possessed her. What good would it do her to see the sun rise so many thousand times more? Every eye would make the writing stand out more clearly, and certain words had become undying torments to her. Father--daughter! Who would banish these words from the language, so that he might nevermore hear them, nevermore read them?

Her ideas seemed to move in an unfathomable void. Turn it as she might, the one and only thought was ever returning with crus.h.i.+ng weight. It seemed exhausting and yet inexhaustible.

Then ensued that numbness of the mind which is best described as the entire absence of thought. Chaos reigned, and what lay beyond surpa.s.sed conception. ”Let what will come, I shall submit, like the beast led out for the sacrifice, and upon whose head the uplifted axe of the high priest is about to descend. Your destiny must be accomplished; you can do nothing but submit without shrinking.”

Irma lay thus for hours.

The great clock in the hall was ticking, and seemed to be saying: Father--daughter; daughter--father. For hours, she could hear nothing but the pendulum, which seemed to utter those words again and again.

She was about to give orders that the clock should be stopped, but forebore. She tried to force herself not to hear these words, but did not succeed. The pendulum still kept saying: Father--daughter; daughter--father.

What had once been subject to her caprice, now ruled her.

”What have you seen of the world?” she asked herself. ”A mere corner.

You must travel round the earth, and let it be a pilgrimage in which you may escape from yourself. You must become acquainted with the whole planet on which these creatures who call themselves men creep about; creatures who dig and plant, preach and sing, chisel and paint, simply to drown the thought that death awaits them all. All is drowned in stupor--”

In imagination, she transported herself far, far away, with faithful servants pitching their tent in the desert; and if some wild race were to approach--While she lay there, half awake, half asleep, she heard the sounds of the tom-tom, and fancied herself borne away on the shoulders of others, and adorned with peac.o.c.ks' wings, while savage, dusky forms were dancing around her.

What had once been a wild day-dream now possessed her, and her brain whirled in fancy's maddening dance.

CHAPTER VIII.

It was late at night. All were asleep. Irma gently opened the door and slipped out.

She went to the chamber of death. A single light had been placed near the head of the corpse, which lay in an open coffin and with a few ears of corn in its hands. A servant who was watching by the corpse, looked at Irma with surprise. He bowed to her, but did not speak a word. Irma grasped her father's hand. If that hand had rested on her head to bless her, instead of--

She knelt down and, with burning lips, kissed the cold, icy hand. A distracting thought flashed through her mind: This is the kiss of eternity. Burning flame and icy coldness had met: this is the kiss of eternity.

When she awoke in her room, she knew not whether she had really kissed her dead father's hand or whether it was all a dream. But she did feel that her heart was oppressed by a burden that could never be cast aside.

The kiss of eternity. You shall nevermore kiss warm, loving lips--you are the bride of death.

She heard the bells tolling while they bore her father to the grave.

She did not leave her room. Not a sound escaped her lips; not a tear fell from her eye; all her faculties were benumbed and shattered. She lay in the dark. When she heard the pigeons on the window-sill outside, cooing and flying away, she knew that it was day.