Timar's Two Worlds Part 50

"Unfeeling clod! You only care for your bodily weal. You never think of the salvation of your soul. I come to show you the way to heaven, and you prefer the road to h.e.l.l! Do you believe in the resurrection, or in eternal life?"

"Hardly--at any rate, I am not longing for it. I do not want to awake to another life; I want to sleep peacefully under the trees. I shall fall into dust, and the roots will feed on it, and leaves will grow from it: and I want no other life. I shall live in the sap of the green trees I planted with my own hands. I do not believe in your cruel G.o.d who makes His wretched creatures live on to suffer beyond the grave. Mine is a merciful G.o.d, who gives rest to animals, trees, and men when they are dead."

"Could there be a more obstinate sinner! You will go to h.e.l.l-fire--to the tortures of the d.a.m.ned!"

"Show me where the Bible says that G.o.d created h.e.l.l, and I will believe you."

"Oh, you pagan! You will be denying the existence of the devil next,"

cried the priest in a rage.

"I do deny that G.o.d ever created such a devil as you believe in: you invented one for yourselves, and did that badly, for your devil has horns and cloven feet, and such creatures as that eat gra.s.s and not men."

"The earth will open and swallow you up like Dathan and Abiram. Do you bring up the little child in this belief?"

"He is taught by the man who has adopted him."

"Who?"

"He whom the child calls father."

"And what is his name?"

"Michael."

"What is his surname?"

"I never asked him."

"What! you never asked his name? What do you know of him?"

"I know he is an honest man, and loves Noemi."

"But what is he? A gentleman, a peasant, a workman, a sailor, or a smuggler?"

"He is a poor man, suited to us."

"And what else? I must know, for it is part of my duty. What faith does he confess? Is he Papist, Calvinist, Lutheran, Socinian, or perhaps a Jew?"

"I have not troubled myself about it."

"Do you keep the fasts of the Church?"

"Once for two years I never touched meat--because I had none."

"Who baptized the child?"

"G.o.d--with a shower of rain, while He sat on high on His rainbow throne."

"Oh, you heathen!"

"Why heathen?" asked Therese, bitterly. "G.o.d's hand was heavy on me; from the height of bliss I fell into the deepest misery. One day made me a widow and a beggar. I did not deny G.o.d, nor cast His gift of life away. I came to this desert, sought G.o.d and found Him here. My G.o.d requires no sacrifice of song and bell, only a devout heart. I do my penance, not by telling my beads, but by work. Men left me nothing in the world, and I formed a blooming garden from a desert wilderness. All deceived, robbed, and scorned me; the tribunal condemned me, my friends defrauded me, the Church despised me, and yet I did not hate my kind. I am the refuge of the stranger and the dest.i.tute; I feed and heal those who come to me for aid, and sleep with open doors winter and summer; I fear no one. Oh, sir, I am no heathen!"

"What sort of rubbish you talk, you chattering woman! I never asked you all that, but I ask you about the man who lives in this hut, whether he is a Christian or a heretic, and why the child is not baptized? It is impossible that you should not know his name."

"Be it so; I will not tell a lie. I know his name, but nothing more. His life may have secrets in it, as mine had: he may have good reasons for hiding himself. But I know him only as a kind good man, and harbor no suspicions of him. Those were 'friends' who took my all from me, n.o.blemen of high station, who left me nothing but my weeping child. I brought up the little child, and when she was my only treasure, my life, my all, I gave her to a man of whom I knew only that he loved her and she loved him. Is not that to have faith in G.o.d?"

"Don't talk to me of faith. For such a belief as that, witches in the good old time were brought to the stake and burned, all over the Christian world."

"It is lucky that I possess this island by right of a Turkish firman."

"A Turkish firman!" cried the dean, in astonishment. "And who procured it for you?"

"The man whose name you want to know."

"And I will know it on the spot, and in a summary way. I shall call the sacristan and the acolyte in, make them push away the bed, and go in at that door, which I see has no lock."

Timar heard every word in the next room. The blood rushed to his head at the thought that the ecclesiastical dignitary would walk in and exclaim, "Aha! it is you, Herr Privy Councilor Michael von Levetinczy!"

The dean opened the outer door, and called in his two st.u.r.dy companions.

Therese, in her extremity, drew the bright Turkish quilt over her up to the chin. "Sir," she said in an imploring tone to the dean, "listen to just one word which will convince you of the strength of my faith, and show you that I am no heathen. Look, this woolen quilt I have over me came from Broussa. A traveling peddler gave it to me. See now, so great is my trust in G.o.d that I cover myself with it every night; and yet it is well known that the oriental plague has been raging in Broussa this month past. Which of you has faith enough to dare to touch this bed?"

When she looked round, no one was there to answer. At the discovery that this quilt came from the plague-infected districts round Broussa, all had rushed away, leaving the lonely island and its death-stricken inhabitants as a prey to all the devils of h.e.l.l. The accursed island was now the richer by one more evil report, which would keep away people who valued their lives.

Therese let out the refugees. Timar kissed her hand and called her "Mother!"

"My son!" whispered Therese, and looked steadily into his eyes. With that look she said to him, "Remember what you have heard. And now it is time to get ready for the journey." Therese spoke of her approaching death as of a journey.

Leaning on Timar and Noemi, she was led out to the green field, and chose the place for her grave.

"Here in the middle," she said to Timar, taking his spade from his hand and marking out the oblong square. "You made a house for Dodi; make mine here. And build no mound over my grave, and plant no cross upon it; plant there neither tree nor shrub; cover it all with fresh turf, so that it may be like the rest. I wish it; so that no one, when in a cheerful mood, may stumble over my grave and be saddened by it."

One evening she fell asleep, to awake no more. And they buried her as she desired. They wrapped her in fine linen, and spread for her a bed of aromatic walnut leaves. And then they made the grave look like the rest, and covered it with turf, so that it was the same as before. When on the next morning Timar and Noemi, leading little Dodi by the hand, went into the field, no sign could be seen on the smooth surface. The autumn spiders had covered it with a silvery pall, and on the glistening veil the dewdrops sparkled in the sun like myriads of diamonds.

But yet they found the spot in this silver-broidered green plain. Almira went in front; at one place she lay down and put her head on the ground: that was the spot.

_BOOK FIFTH.--ATHALIE._

CHAPTER I.

THE BROKEN SWORD.