Part 49 (1/2)
”Eye-witnesses will swear to it.”
”They will lie,” said Anna again; and turned and walked away. ”Go on,”
she said to Fritz, taking her place beside Miss Leech.
She sat quite silent till they were near the house. Then she called to the coachman to stop. ”I am going into the forest for a little while,”
she said, jumping out ”You drive on home.” And she crossed the road quickly, her white dress fluttering for a moment between the pine-trunks, and then disappearing in the soft green shadow.
Miss Leech drove on alone, sighing gently. Something was troubling her dear Miss Estcourt. Something out of the ordinary had happened. She wished she could help her. She drove on, sighing.
Directly the road was out of sight, Anna struck back again to the left, across the moss and lichen, towards the place where she knew there was a path that led to Lohm. She walked very straight and very quickly. She did not miss her way, but found the path and hastened her steps to a run. What were they doing to Axel? She was going to his house, alone.
People would talk. Who cared? And when she had heard all that could be told her there, she was going to Axel himself. People would talk. Who cared? The laughable indifference of slander, when big issues of life and death were at stake! All the tongues of all the world should not frighten her away from Axel. Her eyes had a new look in them. For the first time she was wide awake, was facing life as it is without dreams, facing its absolute cruelty and pitilessness. This was life, these were the realities--suffering, injustice, and shame; not to be avoided apparently by the most honourable and innocent of men; but at least to be fought with all the weapons in one's power, with unflinching courage to the end, whatever that end might be. That was what one needed most, of all the gifts of the G.o.ds--not happiness--oh, foolish, childish dream! how could there be happiness so long as men were wicked?--but courage. That blind look on Axel's face--no, she would not think of that; it tore her heart. She stumbled a little as she ran--no, she would not think of that.
Out in the open, between the forest and Lohm, she met Manske. ”I was coming to you,” he said.
”I am going to him,” said Anna.
”Oh, my dear young lady!” cried Manske; and two big tears rolled down his face.
”Don't cry,” she said, ”it does not help him.”
”How can I not do so after seeing what I have this day seen?”
She hurried on. ”Come,” she said, ”we must not waste time. He needs help. I am going to his house to see what I can do. Where did they take him?”
”They took him to prison.”
”Where?”
”Stralsund.”
”Will he be there long?”
”Till after the trial.”
”And that will be?”
”G.o.d knows.”
”I am going to him. Come with me. We will take his horses.”
”Oh, dear Miss, dear Miss,” cried Manske, wringing his hands, ”they will not let us see him--you they will not let in under any circ.u.mstances, and me only across mountains of obstacles. The official who conducted the arrest, when I prayed for permission to visit my dear patron, was brutality itself. 'Why should you visit him?' he asked, sneering. 'The prison chaplain will do all that is needful for his soul.' 'Let it be, Manske,' said my dear patron, but still I prayed. 'I cannot give you permission,' said the man at last, weary of my importunity, 'it rests with my chief. You must go to him.'”
”Who is the chief?”
”I know not. I know nothing. My head is in a whirl.”
”He must be somewhere in Stralsund. We will find him, if we have to ask from door to door. And I'll get permission for myself.”
”Oh, dearest Miss, none will be given you. The man said only his nearest relatives, and those only very seldom--for I asked all I could, I felt the moments were priceless--my dear patron spoke not a word. 'His wife, if he has one,' said the man, making hideous pleasantries--he well knew there is no wife--or his _Braut_, if there is one, or a brother or a sister, but no one else.”