The Undying Past Part 58

The evening shadows had gathered over the little temple, and the wind-tossed branches scattered upon it their burden of fading leaves.

There was a sighing and moaning in the air, as if the whole army of spirits with whom the legends of the neighbourhood populated the wood were a.s.sembled on this very spot. And there on the edge of the boscage was the old sacrificial stone, standing like an altar ready for a new offering of blood.

A cold shiver began to creep over her, but she suppressed it quickly.

Let those who were cowards or who had guilty consciences be afraid. She stood still in front of the temple of friendship, and gazed up in astonishment at the sandstone figures.

"Which of the two is meant for Leo?" she wondered, and for the first time she fully realised the great wrong which was being done the man called Ulrich. The thought made her uneasy, and the longer she dwelt on it the blacker were the depths of depravity that it seemed to reach.

She turned her back, for she could no longer bear the sight of the two friends with their arms twined round each other. "One is a liar," she murmured to herself; and she felt just then as if all truth and good faith had vanished from the world--as if even yonder sun was a monstrous blood-red lie.

"No, no," she thought further; "it is impossible. He must have told him, and have said, 'I love your wife, but it is of no consequence. I only want to see her now and then, and listen to her voice--nothing more.'"

Of course, that was how it was. It couldn't--simply couldn't be otherwise. And she herself wanted nothing more than to see _him_ sometimes, and to win a friendly word from him. Truly she had wanted more--once. She had wanted to marry him.... At least, a short time ago she had. But now, of course, that was all over and done with. She had renounced him.

Her heart swelled. She ran round the old stone several times, then sat down on top of it and cried bitterly.

As she folded her hands to pray she saw the blood gushing forth. "How stupid I was this morning," she thought, "when I thought that I should have to open one of my veins on this stone, as if I couldn't pour out my heart's blood for him without doing that."

And tucking her feet beneath her body, she began to pray out loud, while the tears rolled into her mouth.

"Dear G.o.d, it is all over now.... My hopes and my happiness are wrecked. Therefore I beseech Thee from the bottom of my heart to give me strength at least to make others happy. And if I renounce, let me do so without envy, anger, or bitterness. Endow me with that true Christian humility and gentleness that Elly has in such a high degree, so that I may curb my dreadfully hot temper, and not say horrid things to those I love. And above all, I pray Thee for one thing: if he loves her, spare him the endless suffering that I endure because of him. Let him be as happy as it is possible for him to be in his unhappy love.

And especially guard him from playing the liar to Ulrich, so that I need not be ashamed unto death for him. Take Frau Felicitas too under your protection, and let all men, whether they be good or bad, enjoy Thy grace so that at last they shall all come to eternal bliss. Amen!"

She repeated the "Amen" three times, and asked herself if there was any enemy or evil-doer for whom she had forgotten to pray, but none occurred to her.

Her heart was now so overflowing with love and forgiveness that she didn't know how she could be thankful enough.

The sun had gone down. A last red glow of light touched the corners of the temple, and gilded the blue-black autumn clouds that gathered in threatening ma.s.ses on the horizon. Hertha climbed down from the stone, ate the blackberries which she had put down beside her, and thought of her journey home with some anxiety.

A bird of prey flew across the river with a thundering flap of its wings, and then soared as straight as a dart towards the clouds. Its plumage seemed to flash. The wind shook the gra.s.ses. All at once it grew dark.

"Farewell," said Hertha, looking back at the pair of friends. "I'll come again in the spring."

Suddenly she started in terror. She heard a crackling and snapping of twigs among the bushes, which drew nearer and nearer.

"A robber," thought Hertha, and laid her hand on her beating heart.

Erect she stood there, turning a courageous face to the approaching danger.

The figure of a man came in view on the edge of the clearing. Hertha felt her blood run cold. It was Leo. He hurried towards her with his firm stride. The veins stood out on his forehead; his eyes flashed fire.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded.

She was silent and bit her lips, feeling all her meekness depart at one blow.

"Have you taken leave of your senses? Didn't I forbid you to row here alone, and the stream swollen too."

Hertha began to boil inwardly. Was this the reward of her renunciation?

But "have patience, be silent," a voice cried within her.

"It's a marvel that you haven't been carried away," he scolded on, all his anxiety for her turning into wrath. "When I forbid a thing, I have my reasons for doing so, but the devil himself seems to drive you into disobedience, girl. I am not at all inclined to go on a wild-goose chase after you again, I can tell you!"

Ah! that was hard. He scorned that hour which lived in her memory as the most sacred she had known. It was more than hard; it was brutal!

At this moment she hated him so that she felt as if she was almost swooning from the intensity of her emotions. All--all that she had just sworn was forgotten, and with a smile of icy contempt, hardly knowing what she said, she answered--

"You can order and forbid as much as you like. But he who is not honest and does not keep his word himself, can scarcely expect that others will respect and obey him."

The words were spoken. They could not be recalled. Reeling a step forwards, he stared at her dully.

"What--what does that mean?" Every drop of blood had forsaken his face.

"You must know perfectly well what it means;" and she turned to go.

He would have liked to shake her, to question her, and force her to speak. But he had not the courage. It seemed to him that from the lips of this child he had been condemned.

In silence they walked to the landing-place; in silence he rowed her over the stream; in silence they parted. Two who, because they belonged to each other, determined to go through life as enemies.

XXV

The reconciliation of the two women removed the last obstacle that stood in the way of Leo resuming his old relations with his friend.

Nevertheless, things remained as they were.

Leo did his utmost to deceive himself, and yet every fresh meeting afforded him little else but anxiety and nervous oppression of spirit!

When he searched his heart honestly, he could not wonder that it was so. Formerly, when he had reviewed his position with an untroubled glance he had taken for granted that the ghost of the past should stand between him and his friend, unless the whole naked, shameless truth should be brought to the light of day and confessed But that such a confession would be an impossible villainy seemed equally to be taken for granted. So there thus remained no other choice but to perpetrate a not less grave, though less ruinous villainy, _i.e_. to act a lie--the same crooked, cringing, smiling lie, day after day, in the house of the unsuspecting man, and to betray the master and well-beloved at every c.o.c.k-crow afresh. To keep away now was out of the question. He could in no way have justified such a course. In these short and rainy autumn days it was no longer possible to avoid Felicitas, and he was obliged to own to himself that he no longer wished to avoid her. Those understanding looks which one hour he abhorred consoled him the next, for they were eloquent of sympathy and grat.i.tude.

He would even have liked to be oftener alone with her. For although such interviews meant an amalgam of shame, remorse, slackness, and cynicism, they necessitated no lying. One spoke the truth without restraint, however abominable the subject one talked on might be.

But what was worst of all was the uncertainty about Ulrich's att.i.tude towards him. For a long time he had not been sure how to interpret it.

He kept vigilant watch on his friend's ever-varying expression, as if to ascertain whether he had guessed anything since they last met, and so the flow of easy and natural converse dried up in his throat.

Whatever he did, he was tormented by the probability of Ulrich having gathered from his intercourse with Felicitas some hint that roused his suspicions; he might, by the process of putting two and two together, and by recalling and comparing incidents, be drawing conclusions and nearing the discovery of the hideous truth. So absorbed was he by the idea, that sometimes it seemed to him almost inconceivable that Ulrich should not have drawn such conclusions, and there were certain hours when he firmly believed that his friend's geniality was a mere mask, which he a.s.sumed to draw him into a trap.

He measured anxiously the warmth of each hand-shake with which Ulrich welcomed him, and if he noticed that his eyes were resting on him thoughtfully, his blood would mount hotly to his brow, and the figure of his friend swim before him in a mist.

One evening, in the middle of October, Ulrich received him at the portico with the words--

"Come into my study; I want to have a talk with you."

The tone in which he said this was one of suspicious solemnity, and Leo felt his heart sink. He was almost convinced now that the hour of explanation had sounded.

"I'll put a bullet through my brain before I confess," he thought, while Ulrich closed the door behind them.

His furtive gaze wandered searchingly along the ma.s.sive black shelves and cupboards which lined the small room, and from which the gold of the bookbindings cast a soft shimmer. Here, amidst periodicals and political pamphlets, microscopes and specimens, his friend spent his leisure; here he robbed his nights of sleep in ceaseless and indefatigable study. Leo felt as if he must make sure of a weapon, but in this peaceful little kingdom there was nothing of the kind in evidence. Silently he sat down, and confronted his friend with mute hostility.

Ulrich's long figure dropped into the black leather-covered chair at the writing-table, and he pushed the lamp with green shade out of the circuit of his elbow.