On the Heights Part 94

The large dog, a favorite of her father's, was there also, and barked when he saw her. She gave orders to have the dog taken back to the house.

She rode away at an easy pace. She did not look behind her, nor to the right or left. The sun was already behind the tops of the trees. Its broken rays shone through the branches, like so many threads of light, and between the boughs glowed the sky, forming a golden background.

Irma halted and beckoned to Baum, who had been following her, to come nearer. He rode up.

"How much money have you with you?"

"Only a few florins."

"I must have a hundred florins; ride back and get them for me."

Baum hesitated. He wanted to say that he was not allowed to leave the countess, but he could not muster courage enough to do so.

"Why do you hesitate? Don't you understand me?" said Irma harshly.

"Ride back immediately."

Baum was scarcely out of sight, when Irma whipped her horse, leaped over the ditch at the side of the road, hurried across the mountain meadow and into the woods. She rode at full gallop, over the very road Bruno had taken a few days before. The horse was spirited and fresh, and proud of its beautiful rider. They knew each other, and it galloped on right merrily, as if in the chase. And there really is a chase; for hark! there's a shot. But Pluto stands fire, and is not so easily frightened. Away he dashed, more wildly than before. The rays of the setting sun shone through the forest shades, lighting up the trees and mosses with their roseate glow. And still she rode on, ever urging her horse to greater speed.

She had reached the crest of the mountain ridge; below, lay the broad lake, glowing with purple.

"There!" cried Irma. "There thou art, cold death!"

Pluto stopped, thinking that his mistress had spoken to him. "You're right," said she, patting his neck; "it's far enough."

She alighted and turned the horse's head. He looked at her once more, with his large, faithful eyes, for she had thrown back her veil.

"Go home. You're to live; go home!"

The horse did not move. She raised her whip and struck it. It started off, with mane and tail fluttering in the evening breeze, as it hurried away along the mountain crest.

Irma paused and looked after it. Then she sat down on the edge of a projecting rock and gazed at the vast prospect and the setting sun.

"O light! O lovely sky! This is the last time I gaze upon you, before I sink into the night of death--"

For a moment, she was wholly absorbed in the view that opened before her. She no longer knew whence she had come, or whither she would go.

Her eyes rested on the vast range of towering peaks, summit piled on summit, and, in the distance, a peak overtopping them all. The wooded heights seemed enveloped in a violet haze. The trembling rays of the setting sun gilded the bare and rugged cliffs. High upon the glaciers rested the rosy glow of sunset, ever a.s.suming a brighter hue as it grew darker in the valley below. One mighty, snow-clad peak seemed as if on fire; but a cloud pa.s.sed over it and, as if lifting a veil, carried the mountain's rosy glow with it. The cloud gradually disappeared in a blaze of glory, and the snowy peaks, standing out against the background of dull sky, looked cold and bleak, as if in death.

The mighty spirit of Death was pa.s.sing o'er the heights.

Oh! that one might thus vanish into thin air!

A chilling breeze swept over the mountain. Irma shuddered. She pa.s.sed her hand over her face, and felt that she, too, was growing pale. She rose to her feet and ascended the mountain for some distance, so that she might once more see the fiery ball. She was too late and said aloud:

"Of what avail is it to see the sun a thousand, or twice a thousand times, as long as the day must come when it sets for us, once and for all? And it has forever set to him who lies under the sod and on whose hand decay--"

She felt giddy and sank upon the mossy ground. When she got up again, it was night.

She arose and, holding up her dress, walked down into the dark and thickly wooded ravine below.

CHAPTER X.

Irma advanced with a firm step. The footpath she had struck wound its way among large and lofty trees and soon opened into a broad road that had been cut through the forest. Ever and anon heat-lightning would flash in the distance, breaking up the gloom and revealing another firmament that lay beyond.

Irma scarcely looked up. She thought of nothing but how to find her way. There was perfect silence, broken now and then by a sorrowful sound, like the sobbing of a human being. It must be from some hollow tree, thought she. The groaning always seemed to advanced before her.

Wherever she went she heard it. She looked for the heart-sick tree, but could not find it. With every step, she advanced further into the forest and higher up the mountain. Then she ran down the mountain, and now all was silent. The path was no longer visible, but, from afar, she caught a glimpse of the moonlit lake, the object of her search. She went on, through the pathless forest, treading down the soft moss.

Sometimes she heard the twittering of birds in the tree-tops; a martin or a weasel was destroying the young in their nests. The world is full of murder, thought she; its creatures are ever preying on each other.

Though man destroys and kills his fellow-men, he does not eat them.

That alone distinguishes man from the beasts. And there is one thing more--man alone can kill himself. Irma grew dizzy at the thought. She supported herself against a tree for a moment and then walked on Her resolve must be carried out; there must be no weakness, no wavering.

She went still further into the dense forest. Her cheeks glowed, the perspiration dripped from her forehead; but inwardly she fell as if freezing.

Something rustled through the thicket. It was a stag which she had frightened from its cover. The stag was afraid of her, and she was afraid of the stag. He fancied that she could feel its antlers piercing her. She hurried down the mountain side. For a while she could still hear the crackling of the underbrush, and at last all was silent again.

The wind whistled through the treetops, and there was a sound of running water, sometimes near and sometimes afar, and then the roaring of a forest stream dashing down from the rocks. She beheld the moonlit foam, and no longer knew where she was or whither she was going--toward the lake, or away from it. If she were to lose her way in the forest--if she were to be found there and taken back to the world and misery! Mustering all her strength, she walked on. The cool night air blew against her face, but her cheeks glowed as if with fire. She pressed her hand to her brow; it seemed as if a hot spring was flowing from the spot which had been touched. She looked up to the stars and recognized the familiar constellations. She knew their position, but those great guides through infinite s.p.a.ce do not help the lonely mortal who has lost her way in the heart of the forest. Irma thought of the nights when, under Gunther's guidance, her glance had roamed o'er the vast, starry expanse. But now all was annihilated, all greatness had fallen. Even her view of the stars was confined and obstructed. She tried to remember whether she had destroyed the letters or left them behind her. She thought she could remember having burnt that of the king; but how as to the letter to the queen? Torn by conflicting doubts, she was, at last, completely bewildered. Perhaps both letters would be found.--Be it so.

And then Walpurga's song pa.s.sed through her mind.

If the good peasant woman who lives by the lake knew that her friend was thus groping her way through the woods, all alone, in darkest night, and with such dread thoughts for her companions--she would hasten to her aid, would draw her to her heart and would not let her go. Who knows but that, although far away, she is thinking of me now, dreaming of me and, perhaps, singing her song--sending it, like some invisible messenger, on the wings of night. How the poor creature will grieve when she hears of my death. Perhaps she will be the only one who will sincerely mourn for me.

Memories of many kinds floated through her mind. Years hence, some boatman like the one at the island convent, will tell the story of the drowned maid of honor. What effect will the news of my death have upon others? None of them can help me, nor can I help them. Day after to-morrow they'll be playing, dancing and singing as usual. No one can keep another in remembrance. He who is absent has no claim on our thoughts. Life is as pitiless as death. She went further into the thicket, pa.s.sing wild ravines on the way. The stones loosened by her tread tumbled over the precipice, and the dull, hollow thud with which they struck the earth below, told her how far they had fallen. The rocks on either side drew closer together, the mountain torrent rushed down over them and, all at once, she reached the edge of a precipice; further, she could not go. I will take the fatal leap and dash myself to pieces. But to lie there, perhaps for days, bruised and half dead.

To die a lingering death! No!

She sought a path. A branch struck her in the face just where her father's icy finger had touched her.

"No; this brow shall nevermore see the light of day," she cried, holding fast with her hands, while trying to find a way along the edge of the cliff. Suddenly, she heard the loud voice of a woman singing.

Irma drew a long breath, for it was a human voice--a woman's, perhaps that of a young and lovely girl, giving her lover a signal in the night. The sounds were repeated again and again, and grew more and more piercing, and, trembling with fear, Irma sat on the rock. She answered with a scream. She was frightened at the sound of her own voice, but she cried out again and again, for now there was an answer. The other voice seemed to approach; dogs rushed forth and were already surrounding Irma and barking, as a signal that they had found the prey.

The voice came nearer and nearer.

"Where are you?" she asked.

"Here," answered Irma.

"Where?"

"Here."

"Up there?"

"Yes."

"How did you get up there?"

"I don't know."

"Keep quiet; don't move and I'll come."

"Yes."