The Black Cross Part 18

"No--take it yourself!"

"Your pocket is so deep; it is like diving into a pool."

"Not so deep as your eyes, Kaya. You thief! Ah, take your fingers away and pay for your bread."

"Are you fooling, Velasco? You look at me so strangely! Sometimes your eyes are slits and disappear under your brows, and now--Velasco, turn your head away--I am hungry. You make my heart beat!--Velasco--give me the bread."

"Pay first and then you shall have it."

She stared at him a moment, drawing back into the straw. "I am a boy,"

she said softly, panting, "Remember I am a boy! Don't--tease me!"

"Just once, Kaya."

"No--Velasco."

The older gypsey glanced again about the low raftered loft. The window in the rafters was hung with cob-webs; the light came through it dimly, a shaft of sun-beams dancing on the floor; they fell on her hair beneath the cap and the curls glistened like gold. Her eyes were watching him.

"No--no--Velasco!"

He came nearer to her, and the straw crackled as he moved, stretching out his arms: "When you were weary, Kaya, I carried you. When you fell asleep I watched over you. It is not your heart that is beating so fast; it is mine! The colour has come back to your cheeks and the light to your eyes. You slept while I guarded you. My eyes were heavy, but I dared not shut them; I watched the folds of your jacket rising and falling, the breath as it came through the arch of your lips; the gold of your curls against the straw; the oval of your cheek and your lashes. My eyes never closed.--I have given up everything for you, Kaya, my life and my art."

He stretched out his arms to her again, and his dark eyes gazed into her blue ones, pa.s.sionate and eager.

"--Kaya!"

She put out her hand and touched his:

"Sleep, Velasco. Your life is safe and your art. You have given them to me, but I will give them back again. Break off a piece of the bread, Velasco, and we will talk a little together while we eat. We have been such good comrades, you and I, and we care for one another--as comrades do. If you should die or--or leave me, it would break my heart--you know that."

"Ah, kiss me--Kaya! Let me take you in my arms! Come to me and let me kiss you on your lips!"

"You hurt me, Velasco, your hands are so strong! Not on the lips--Velasco--not on the--lips! I beseech you, dear friend,--I--"

The gypsey held her close to him for a moment, his heart beating against hers, and then he turned away his head. "I love you, Kaya; I love you!

Kiss me of your own will. I can't force you--how can I? Your hands are struggling in mine, but they are soft like the down on a bird's breast!

Some day you will come to me, Kaya, some day--when you love me too.

When--ah! The touch of your hands, your hair against my cheek sets my blood on fire! Feel my pulse how it throbs! It is like a storm under the skin! I suffer, little Bradjaga--little comrade!"

"Don't suffer!" cried the girl, "Let me go, Velasco, let me go! We will sit here together, side by side; be my comrade again, my big brother!

Laugh, Velasco! Smile at me! When you look like that and come so close, I am frightened! Don't tease me any more! The bread is hard like a nut; see, I will crack it between my teeth. Where is the honey-cake, Velasco?

Give me a piece."

"Do you care for me, Kaya? Look me in the eyes and tell me."

The girl pushed him away from her slowly and turned away her head with a flush: "Is that your violin over there in the straw, lying in a little nest all by itself,--cradled so snug and so warm? It is charming to be a gypsey, Velasco. Are you glad I came to you, or are you sorry? That night, do you remember the violets? I flung them straight at your feet!

I wasn't a boy then, but I threw straight. Velasco, listen--I--I care for you--but don't--kiss me!"

"Kaya--Kaya!"

"Hush! Shut your eyes! Put your head back in the straw and go to sleep.

When it is time for the dance I will wake you. I will sit here close beside you and watch, as you watched over me. Shut your eyes, Velasco."

"Won't you--Kaya?"

"Go to sleep, Velasco--hush!"

"If I shut my eyes--will you?"

"Hush!"

The sun-beams danced on the dusty floor and the light came dimly through the cobwebs. Velasco lay with his arm under his head, his young limbs stretched in the straw, asleep. He murmured and tossed uneasily. There was a flush on his face; his dark hair fell over his brows and teased him, and he flung it back, half unconscious.

Kaya covered him with the blanket, kneeling beside him in the straw. She moved without rustling, drawing it in softly, and smoothing the straw with her fingers.

"It is my fault that he is lying here in a loft," she whispered low to herself, "He does it for me! His hands have been frozen--for me! They were so white, and firm, and supple; and now--they are scratched and swollen!"

She gave a frightened glance about the loft, and then bent over him, holding back a fold of the blanket.

"He is asleep!" she breathed, "He will never know!"

She stooped low with her golden head and kissed his hands one after the other, lightly, swiftly, pressing her lips to the scratches. He murmured again, tossing uneasily; and she fell backwards in the straw, gazing at him, with her arms locked over her breast and her heart throbbing madly.

"No--he is asleep!" she said, "He is fast asleep! Another hour, and then in the dusk I will wake him. He will play for the dancing--Velasco! The greatest violinist in all Russia--he will play for the peasants to dance!"

She gave a little sob, half smothered. "It was wicked," she said, "unpardonable! I didn't know then--how could I know? If I had known!--G.o.d, save him! Give him back his life and his art that he has given to me. Give it all back to him, and let me suffer alone the curse of the Cross--the curse of the--Cross! Make me strong to resist him!

Ah, Velasco--!"

She was sobbing through her clenched teeth; staring at him, stretching out her arms to him.

--"Velasco!"

CHAPTER XI

The room was long, and low, and bare, lighted in the four corners by lamps, small and ill-smelling. The ceiling was blackened by the smoke from them, and the air was heavy, clouding the window-panes. At one end of the room was a raised platform, and on the platform sat two gypseys; the one was dark, in a picturesque, tattered costume, with a scarf about his waist, and a violin; the other was slight, with golden curls clipped short, and a ragged jacket of velveteen, worn at the elbows.

The floor of the room was crowded with dancers; st.u.r.dy, square-faced moujiks in high boots; and their sweethearts in kerchiefs and short skirts. The moujiks perspired, stamping the boards with their boots until the lamps rattled and shook, and the smoke rolled out of the chimneys; embracing the heavy forms of the women with hands worn and still grimy with toil. The tones of the violin filled the room. "One, two--one, two--one, two, three--curtsey and turn--one, two, three."

The dark haired gypsey sat limply in his chair, playing, his back half turned to the room. There was no music before him. He improvised as he played, s.n.a.t.c.hes of themes once forgotten, woven and bound with notes of his own. His eyes were closed; he swayed a little in his chair, holding the violin close to his cheek.

"One, two--one, two--one, two, three."

The younger gypsey sat cross-legged on the floor, gazing down at the whirling crowd, blurred by the smoke. In his hands he held a tambourine, which he shook occasionally in rhythm with the waltz, glancing over his shoulder at his companion and laughing. Occasionally they whispered together.

"You play too well, Velasco! Hist--scratch with the bow!"