The Undying Past Part 90

She paused irresolute, her eyes wide with wonder, then she slowly went back to her place.

He did not speak to her again, and for something to do, she cut bread and b.u.t.ter.

The clock struck eight and he sprang up. "Now for it, old boy. Now for it."

At the door he stopped and looked back. She was sitting turned away from him, her head a little on one side, her industrious hands fallen idly in her lap.

And now the anguish of parting unmanned him. He came behind her, and bending her head backwards he laid his hand on her forehead with a gentle caress.

He saw the colour deepen in her cheeks, and her two rows of regular white teeth shining between her anxiously parted lips, and he looked into her large frightened eyes.

"My dear child," he said; "my dear, dear child."

Their eyes melted into each other, and from the depths of her breast came a short gurgling sob.

"You have been very good to me, child," he went on, "and you would have done still more for me if I had let you. And in return I have been bearish and rough to you. Forgive me. I would like to make up for it, but it may not be--may not be. Stay with my mother, dear; you are the only one who can keep a cool head."

He kissed her rigid lips softly and hurried away.

Outside the falling snow hung like a thick veil over the fields. Not a breath of wind, not a sound came out of the distance. The trees became blurred in the dense, silent dance of the flakes. They looked almost as if they were tied up in bags, so entirely were they wrapped in the snowy foam.

Beneath his feet the fine new snow rose over his boots at every step and flew before him in little powdery clouds. Road and path were quite lost to view, and one had to grope one's way over the ground step by step.

Leo felt warm under his heavy cloak, and the weight of his case of pistols oppressed him too. He opened his mouth, and swallowed as many of the flying crystals as he could catch, for his throat burned. Then he took off his cap and let the cooling flakes fall refreshingly on his bare head.

"Would he be there?" he asked himself, and the thought of a personal meeting alarmed him more than the prospect of death.

"My G.o.d, what sort of a meeting will it be?" he stammered half-aloud, and grew hot all over.

They would have to speak to each other. They could not glare from their respective posts and then fall on one another without a word like two red Indians; and suddenly in a flash the thought came to him--

"Suppose you are so bad that he declines to waste powder and shot on you."

He held his breath for a moment almost petrified with shame. Then he roused himself and ran with all his might through the reeds, and over the groaning ice to the spot where "finis" was to be written on everything. On the frozen little bay, whereby it was alone possible to reach the island, he found footprints which must have been quite freshly made, though the snow had half covered them up already.

This first sign of his friend's waiting presence made his heart rise to his throat.

He tore on, following the foot-marks up the steep incline to the clearing which was lost to sight in the ever-thickening snowstorm. For a moment anxiety at what was to come made him giddy. Death was mere child's play compared with the inevitable conversation that must precede it. He leaned against a tree to get his breath, and it seemed to him that instead of the white flakes a shower of red and blue flames were falling around him. And then he made a last great effort to shake off all cowardice, and stepped on to the open s.p.a.ce to offer his heart as a target to his friend.

But he could see no sign of him. On all sides the white noiseless tumult, the dark interior of the temple making the one shadow in the milky lightness, but nowhere any trace of a human figure.

He walked the length of the clearing, took a rapid glance in pa.s.sing at the two statues, spied into the thicket, hunted at the back of the temple, and at last he found him.

First of all his foot struck against a case of pistols like his own, and then he saw lying stretched out at the foot of the sacrificial stone the outline of a man's figure already half covered with snow.

With a cry he darted to his side, raised him into an upright position in his arms, and wiped the snow off his face. It was like the face of a corpse. The eyes were shut, the lips colourless, and his skin as Leo touched it felt deathly cold against his caressing hands. Half out of his mind with a dread fear, he pressed his ear listening against the motionless chest. A slight, irregular tremour told him that there was still life in the body.

And as his fear was conquered, a great pa.s.sion of all-powerful, all-healing tenderness came over him with the force of an avalanche, which swept away sin and pain, self-degradation and self-contempt and desire for death by the roots as if they had never been. Triumphantly the joy of the old full and undivided possession of his friend broke forth again at this moment. He would live for him, his only care should be to love and serve him--he would laugh so that he should learn to laugh again; lie at his feet like a faithful dog.

Yes, all this he vowed to do as he felt a new strength brace his limbs and a new hope expand his soul.

Now, at any rate, so long as he hung lifeless in his arms, he belonged to him and no one else, he alone was there to warm and cherish him, and to rub his brow as of old.

He carried him to the temple of friendship, spread his cloak for him to lie upon, and wrapped the corners over his breast; and when he saw that the cloak was not sufficient to cover the long limbs altogether, be wrenched off his coat and wrapped it round his feet.

Then he seated himself upon the temple steps, and pillowing the head gently in his lap he began ma.s.saging with his finger-tips forehead and skull in the manner which he had practised from childhood, which only he in the world understood.

But the swoon continued; now and then a slight convulsion ran through Ulrich's frame like a shiver from cold.

"If I could get him warm, he would recover consciousness," thought Leo, and drew the folds of the cloak closer round his limbs.

The flakes descended with monotonous speed, without a hiatus or a pause. Not the tiniest spot did they spare, and the narrow roof of the temple was no shelter from them. They no longer cooled and refreshed, but stung and burned as they fell on his skin. They settled in scores on his thin shirt-sleeves and made little dark rivulets there as their star-like shapes melted. He began to freeze, but he did not mind.

His whole soul was centred on the re-awakening of which Ulrich's face now held out one signal after another. And, at length, his eyes opened.

First his gaze was fixed on the distance, then it wandered along the white sleeves which bellied above him, and finally remained riveted on the face bending over him with such keen solicitude. An expression of intense horror slowly dawned on his features. A shudder ran through his limbs, and he made a spasmodic attempt to stand on his legs, but sank back again exhausted. His breast heaved and his hands fumbled for a support.

Leo felt his own breath come faster. Now was his great opportunity.

"Spare yourself," he stammered, "I implore you. I will do nothing to you. Lie still and let me explain everything; only lie still.

Afterwards, when you have regained strength, you shall shoot me down.

But so long as you are feeling poorly spare yourself, and lie still for pity's sake."

Ulrich's gestures became more composed, and there was a silence.

"Leo!"

Greedily Leo heard his name fall from the beloved lips.

"What, old man, what?"

"Leo, why have you not got on your coat?"

"Oh, never mind my coat."

"Leo, if you ... Leo, why ...?"

"Don't ask any questions, child; not now. I am going to tell you all, but not now. Now you must lie quietly here while I go for help."

"No, no. It is best that you should say now, once for all, what you want to say."

"But are you quite sure that you are well enough to bear it?"

"Yes, I think so."

"And you will be able to understand?"

"Yes, I shall understand."

"I haven't spoken, Ulrich, because I thought it no good--because I thought you would believe her and not me--and because I wanted to spare her, too. But whether you will believe me or not, whether or not it is her ruin, I will speak now. And I shall not whitewash myself, you may be sure of that."