The Undying Past Part 26

She paused and looked up at him with great scared eyes, as if she suddenly recollected to whom she was speaking. Then she devoted herself to the kettle, raised the lid, and blew the flames.

"Why don't you go on?" he insisted on knowing.

"I can't," she said softly. "You _will_ look at me all the time."

"I'll look the other way," he said.

Then she resigned herself to fate and continued--

"After it had lasted half an hour and more, it began to bore me. I had no place to rest my feet on, for the water splashed about at the bottom of the boat. When the houses of Newferry came in sight I thought to myself, now my troubles will end, and I called out and yelled at the top of my voice, but all in vain. The hole is called Newferry, but not a sign of a ferry-boat was to be seen anywhere. Well, then I simplified matters by jumping into the water."

"Girlie, you must have been possessed by a demon," he cried, half angry, half laughing.

"So the people thought in the village," she replied; "because when I bobbed up at the d.y.k.e they all ran away from me. It was a good thing that I happened to know the people at the inn. They used to rent our ... that is to say ... _the_ public-house at Halewitz."

He mentioned the name that occurred to him.

Yes. b.u.t.tkus; that was it. And then she told him of the miserable plight she had found the house in. The woman lay in bed delirious from fever; the landlord in desperation had resorted to the brandy bottle.

"I sent the fellow off on the spot to Munsterberg to fetch the doctor,"

she concluded, "and I shall stay here till he comes back, whether you think that I ought or not."

And she gave him a challenging look as if she saw herself being carried out of the place by force.

But he at once soothed her. Nothing was farther from his thoughts than to disturb her in her n.o.ble work of charity.

"One question you must answer, however," he said.

"Well?"

"An hour ago you were here?"

"Certainly I was."

"Didn't you hear your name being called?"

She seemed embarra.s.sed, reflected a little, and then said in a decisive tone--

"Yes."

"And why didn't you answer?"

There was silence.

She took the kettle off the tripod and poured the water, which was boiling, into a stewpan, from which rose the fragrant scent of elder flowers.

"You'll allow me at least to take the woman her tea?" she said. "The poor thing has such shivering fits."

And without waiting for his response she went out at the door, holding the handle of the hot stewpan deftly between two fingers.

Leo devoured with his eyes the slender virginal figure in its rough costume as it disappeared into the darkness.

He seated himself on an oak stump which, chopped up, was used for firewood, and let his fingers idly run along the teeth of the hatchet, turned into an instrument of gold by the flickering firelight.

The St. Bernard looked up at him with intelligent eyes.

"Like a fairy tale," she had said. And this was like being in a fairy tale, too. The walls were covered with rough household utensils. The huge open chimney-place was all encrusted with glittering flakes of soot that struggled upwards in fantastic zigzag shapes, and when loosened from the velvet cloud of smoke, rained down on to the hearth in a shower of metallic scales. Above the fire of crackling logs, along which the blue flames greedily felt their way before plunging into their heart, the steaming flower-patterned blouse belonging to the careless child wreathed the hearth with a festive-looking garland. The quivering reflection of the flames shot up brilliantly and filled the room one moment, the next they sank, giving place to dark shadows, his own shadow most conspicuous, magnified to gigantic proportions on the wall and rising to the ceiling, with a black hatchet grasped in his hand ... a grim sentinel.

Like this shadow, he thought, holding the hatchet and waiting a chance to bring it down, was that old sin. There was no path along which it did not follow him. Where he was, it was, too. In this hour it would not tolerate for a moment that he should forget it. He looked at the clock. Ten minutes past eleven; and still there was no sound of the carriage coming.

He rose and went out on tiptoe up to the d.y.k.e to look round. As he came to where his mare was standing, he saw with alarm that its smoking body was convulsed with cold shivers.

"Well to be born a landed proprietor," he reflected. "If I was my groom this negligence would cost me my situation and bread."

Hurriedly he went back and found in a corner of the kitchen a patchwork square such as the poor people use instead of carpet. In this he wrapped the shaking animal, after he had dried its legs and flanks with a towel.

Far and wide darkness and silence reigned. Only on the other side of the stream a torchlight came and went, and reappeared in another place.

Probably nocturnal crab-catchers were abroad. The mist had thickened, and appeared to be heavy on the river. Bluish-white tags detached themselves now and then, and melted in the starry sky, or hung about the bushes and shrubs, whose blurred blackness rose out of a milky surface. He heard a soft trickling sound coming from the trees near.

The dew was falling. He shivered in his damp clothes.

"G.o.d be praised that I have got her safe," he thought, and turned back to the house. As he stepped softly over the threshold, he fancied he heard Hertha speaking his name. He stood still in astonishment.

"Leo ... my dear, dear, _dear_ Leo!"

He had never heard any words in his life so fervid, so full of awed and hesitating tenderness.

But the problem was soon solved. She was sitting on the oak stump, bending down caressing the dog whose head rested between her feet, which were now shod in stockings and wooden shoes.

He was inwardly vexed, and laughed. But she, when she heard him coming, sprang up with a cry as if she had been doing something very wrong.

"I was so big a blockhead for a minute," he confessed, laughing, "as to think that was meant for me."

A fresh wave of colour swept her cheeks. Then, shrugging her shoulders, she said, "You are mistaken."

"Yes, I always am being mistaken," he answered; and turning to the dog, he added, "You are lucky, old boy. Your master is treated _en canaille_, but you who are _canaille_ itself get caresses and endearments."

"Uncle Leo," she began, with flashing eyes, "I hope that you will be chivalrous enough, to-day at least, not to take advantage of my helpless position to scoff at me."

"But, my dear child, ..." he said soothingly.

"Don't call me your dear child. I am not your dear child.... I am a stranger to you, as much as any one else. I am a lonely forsaken girl, whom you found receiving hospitality under your roof; you let her stay, because you cannot very well tell her to go. But simply because I am still your guest, I beg that you will not speak to me now, but go away.

Leave me to my fate. I dare say that I can find my way home, though after that I am not quite certain what I shall do."

She stood leaning against the inglenook biting her lips, and stared at the fire, which cast a golden glow over her flowing hair and naked brown arms. He was quite unmanned by the loveliness of the picture.

He came close to her, and smiling into her amazed eyes, stroked her on the forehead and cheeks three times.

She gazed up at him motionless, with half-open mouth. She seemed scarcely to comprehend what was happening. For it was the first time any man had ever stroked her cheek.