CHAPTER XVTHE APPARITION IN THE CLOISTERS
“Thehamlet which he pointed to was known as Trenak, a little settlement of six houses in the hollow of the woods. No sooner were his words spoken than I had great joy of them, saying that surely Christine must have taken refuge in the village. And in this I was warranted when we had waited—it might be the space of a minute—for then we heard the cry which he had heard; and with a loud answer we all ran together down the road; those that had feared now heading the company, and each man very solicitous to be first upon the scene. Yet we had not gone two hundred yards from the spot when we were all huddling together again, and the sound of a gun-shot twice repeated had stiffened the limbs of every man among us.
“‘Hark to that!’ cried the steward, over whose brow the sweat was pouring despite the heaviness of the frost; ‘whoever is down yonderis at close quarters with the pack. God help them!’
“‘It was a Winchester rifle that was fired,’ exclaimed a woodlander. ‘There is but one hand in the province which holds a Winchester, and that is the hand of the Lord Count.’
“‘You say well,’ cried I; ‘the Holy Mother help us to tell him the news.’
“I have never seen men so sorely troubled, excellency. Though they had no alternative but to run on swiftly to the help of their master, yet each desired his fellow to be first, and the excuses they made, some dropping their guns, others rekindling their torches, were a thing to hear. Only at the last, and when we heard a new cry of terror, and the rifle was fired repeatedly, did the urgency of the danger drive them to forget all else, and send them headlong to the turn of the road whence the one street of the village is to be observed.
“Never shall I forget the sight we saw as that street came to our view. It was like passing from the darkness of a stormy night to the glare of a terrible day. There, at a stone’s throw from the first of the houses, was the sledge of Count Paul, its electric lamps—forhe built it after the model of the one at Munich—shining so brightly that all the village was lit by them. We could see a dozen lusty men dealing stout blows with their cudgels upon the ravenous beasts, of which fifty at the least were snarling and snapping at the shivering horses. We could see the wolves tearing the flesh in strips from the staggering leaders of the team, or leaping at the villagers, or rolling in the snow as the bullets struck them and the cudgels broke their backs. High above the throng was the form of the Count, his rifle smoking in his hand, his voice as clear and resonant as the voice of a sergeant at the drill. And Christine stood at his side, seeming to make light of the peril.
“Excellency, that was a scene to remember; the glow of the lamps in the ‘whirling fire,’ as the peasants call the sledge, the howling of the wolves, the sharp reports of the rifles, the piteous moanings of the horses, the shouts of the men—above all the figure of the Count shielding little Christine. As for me, I never recall a moment so welcome to me; nor could I fail to remind myself that my word in urging on the men when they would have turned back had done not a little to save the child’s life andthe life of Count Paul. Certainly, our coming was the turning-point of the attack; for the presence of the master had put new heart into the poltroons who had followed me from the house, and so soon as they saw him they ran on towards his sledge, shouting like madmen, and firing so wildly that two of the villagers were wounded by their bullets. Nevertheless, the pack being now taken on two sides, and the din and noise being beyond words, many minutes had not passed before the last of the wolves was limping to the woods, and we were gathering about the Lord Count to congratulate him. He, however, had thanks for none of us, since Christine, who had stood up boldly while there was work to be done, had now fallen like a dead thing upon the snow at his feet, and all his care and thought were for her.
“‘How came the child out upon the road?’ he cried as the others pressed about him. ‘Are your wits gone, then, that you had no heads to think of it? Get out of my sight, you gibbering fools! Stand back from her! By God, I will send you packing in the morning!’
“He continued in this way for some time, lifting Christine very tenderly in his arms andlaying her upon the cushions of the sledge. His wrath was a fearful thing to see, and so fierce were his words that none of his own dare answer him—not even the priest; and they stood together in the road like children rebuked. Nor did I fare any better, for when I would have told him that it was no fault of mine, and that I had led the others to his help, he struck me with his whip and was the more angry.
“‘Hold your tongue,’ said he, ‘or I will cut it out! God deliver me from such a crew—to let a woman walk the woods when the sun is down! Are you all drunk—and you too, master priest? Then slash the traces off that dead horse and close round the sledge. You shall make noise enough in the morning—make some of it now. The devil give me a lash to reach you!’
“These were hard things to hear, signor, and when he gave us, above them, some heavy slashes with his long whip, raising blood upon our hands and shoulders, it seemed to me that our cup indeed was full. But we could stand still no longer, and when we had cut loose the leading horses—which had been horribly torn by the wolves—we closed round the sledge ashe had bidden us, and with much noise and clamour we ran by the side of it, going safely through the dark place of the wood, and so ultimately to the gates of the château. We were still at some distance from the park, however, when Christine, who had but swooned, came to her senses, as I could see from my place at the window of the carriage; and finding herself in the arms of the man she loved, she raised her face to his, and was held close to him while he kissed her again and again.
“‘Ho, ho,’ said I to myself as I watched the pretty work, ‘now surely is your day come, Andrea, for she will be his wife within the month.’
“Christine awoke on the following morning without any hurt of her adventure, excellency. Nor did the Count hold to threats made in anger, but having given Hans and the priest a sound drubbing with his tongue, he dismissed them to their business. I, for my part, kept out of his way all that day, fearing, if he saw me, to be sent back to Zlarin. I had made up my mind to dwell at Jajce as long as circumstances would permit, more particularly until Christine’s future was settled; and now thatsuch a settlement seemed probable this intention was the stronger. Whatever fate was in store for the girl, that I wished to share. I said to myself that I had earned the right to such a participation in her fortunes. She owed it to me alone that she had lived to know the comforts of her present state. I had given her bread when she was starving, had heard her read out of the book when no other in Sebenico would open a door to her. She had sat upon my knee like one of my own children, had heard words of wisdom from my lips when others gave her curses. Strange, then, if she should not think of me in the great day of her life; strange if I must be sent away when the supreme moment of her happiness was at hand.
“You may urge that such a thought was an anticipation of her state, that nothing had yet passed to lead me to so triumphant a conclusion. I answer you that I am a judge of men, and that nothing of the Count’s nature was then hidden from me.
“Hour by hour the conviction that he would marry her had grown upon me. I had begun to see that he was a man who had learnt toscorn the opinions of his fellow-men—a man who would let nothing come between him and his pleasures. In the same measure that he could jeer at the religion of the priest, or pour torrents of anger upon his servants, so was he at heart a just man, obeying a fine code of honour which his own inborn chivalry dictated. The longer I remained in the house of the Zaloskis, the more sure was I that no shame would come upon Christine there. The Count had few to pry into the garden of his life. His visits to Vienna were rare and official. His only relation was a sister, whose one interest in him was the principal she had borrowed and could not repay. Should he marry the daughter of a merchant of Zara—and that was how the world would hear of it—there would be a few to express surprise that he had not taken a wife from thesalonsof the capital, but none who would have the right to remonstrate. Nay, everything pointed to the one end—his loneliness, his care of the child, the anger he had shewn when she was in danger, his tenderness to her when she was in the carriage with him. Look at the matter as I might, I could not alter my view; and so sure was I that Count Paulhad already spoken to Christine some words of his wish that I took the first opportunity of talking to her, and of putting the question without disguise.
“‘Christine,’ said I—and we were walking in the cloisters of the house about the hour of sundown when I spoke—‘I have not ceased to thank God for your escape last night. Surely it was fortunate that I heard of your danger and called the others to your help.’
“She laughed rather merrily, and not a little to my hurt, excellency.
“‘Oh,’ cried she, ‘I have heard it said that you had no great mind for the task, Andrea. Was it not your word that they should turn back and go to Jézero? Father Mark declares that your legs trembled all the way to the village!’
“‘A plague upon his lying throat!’ said I; ‘had not it been for my arm, his bones would even now lie in yonder wood. Learn, child, that the noblest courage may wear the poorest coat. Afraid!—I fear nothing in heaven or hell!’
“She laughed again at this, but becoming serious presently, she spoke very frankly to me,telling me of her predicament and of the great events that came out of it.
“‘I never thought that there was any danger in the woods,’ said she, ‘for I have been through them a hundred times on my way to Jajce. Last night, for the first time, the sun had begun to sink when I crossed the thicket, and then I heard a pattering in the bushes beside me, and my heart seemed to stand still when I remembered the stories I had heard about Gozzo, the shepherd, who was killed in that place last year. How I ran, Andrea! It seemed an age before I saw the lights of the village and heard the clatter of Count Paul’s sledge. When at last he saw me and I fell at his feet, and heard the moans of his horses and the shouts of the villagers, I could have cried my heart out to have brought such trouble upon him.’
“‘Think nothing of that,’ said I, ‘for I will venture he found the trouble very pleasant.’
“She blushed at this, turning away from me, yet denying none of my words.
“‘Per Baccho, Christine,’ I continued, ‘this is not news to hide from old Andrea. What said the Count, now, when you came home?’
“This direct question seemed to anger her. She turned a flushed face upon me, stamping with her foot and flashing fire with her pretty eyes.
“‘How dare you ask me that?’ she cried. ‘How dare you speak so? Surely the Count was right when he said that you must be sent about your business!’
“I was much alarmed at this, and determined to approach her otherwise.
“‘My Lord Count said that?’ exclaimed I, ‘then God reward him for his gratitude! Three days have I suffered in the mountains that I might speak for you, and this is my recompense. Nay, say nothing, child, for nothing is to be said. Strike the hand that gave you bread; and when you come to your new estate—when you are the mistress of many servants and of many lands—forget that an old man, whom once you called father, is perishing of his poverty and his want. He will never bend his head to implore your charity. Nay, though you had the blood of queens in your veins, he would neither remember nor rebuke. Enough for him that duty has been his watchword, and love of you his crime.’
“My words brought tears to her eyes, and she came up to me, laying her head upon my shoulder as she used to do.
“‘Andrea,’ said she, ‘do not speak like that. Wherever I am, there will be a home for you. I could never forget the years when I called you father. The Count will remember too. He has promised me. It is for you to choose either a cottage in the woods here or a house in your own city of Sebenico. It was his word to me a week ago. Your kindness will not go unrewarded, old friend—that could never be. Wait only a little while and all will be well.’
“I was much mollified at this, but for the moment any thought of myself gave place to astonishment and delight at her words.
“‘Christine,’ said I, ‘Count Paul has spoken to you—then surely you have news for me! Is it not my right to know? Oh, truly, I see that you have great news, and yet not a word of it for old Andrea, who would give years of his life to learn of your happiness.’
“She was silent a moment before she answered me, but taking pity at last upon my curiosity she bent her head and whispered the word I had waited so long to hear.
“‘Andrea,’ she said, ‘God make me worthy—I am to be his wife at Easter.’
“Her confusion when she said this was very pretty to see; and directly she had given me her news she ran away to her own room. But I stood long in the cloisters, not daring to believe such fortune possible. That Count Paul should have declared himself so soon was, indeed, a thing to strike me dumb with wonder. Yet I knew that no false word had ever passed her lips, and her intelligence kept ringing in my head, so that I repeated it again and again, often stopping to clap my hands with joy, or to tell myself that now truly should the future bring me years of content. I foresaw the day when Christine should rule the people of Jajce and they should rejoice at her dominion; I made her in my mind the sweet mistress of the house of the Zaloskis, the controlling influence which should break the anger of the Count. I thought of all that she would do for the old man who had loved her; and I could have danced for my delight. ‘Oh, surely, surely,’ said I, ‘may the day be blessed and may the love of God shine upon her, for she is worthy.’ All the burden of my years seemed to have leftme in that hour, excellency. ‘Go, poverty, go, suffering,’ cried I; ‘no more shall your hands be laid upon me. The morrow shall be the morrow of my ease. The new day shall be a day of joy. Oh, blessed hour, blessed God!’
“I walked long in the cloisters of the château, full of such happy thoughts as these. The dark came sweeping down upon the valleys, the beacons of the sun’s fires were gone from the hills, and I was still telling myself that no wonder in the world’s history was like this wonder of my child’s life, this happy fortune which had carried her—and her old friend—to such a home and to such a state. It may be, excellency, that in my surprise and my satisfaction I fell to taking all things as accomplished, to believing Christine already married, to planning a future which was at the best a shadow. And if this be so, my punishment was swift to follow, for even as I was about to retrace my steps to the house and to seek audience of the priest I heard a step upon the stone pavement behind me; and turning swiftly about, I saw an apparition which froze my heart’s blood and held me to the spot like one upon whom a judgment has come. God bemy witness—I saw the face and figure of Ugo Klun!
“Signor, it was dark then, with the first darkness of night. The sun had gone from the heights, and there was no light of the moon to make silver of the snow. None the less was I sure that Christine’s husband stood there in the shadow of the cloister, and that his eyes were looking into mine. Though his face was thinned by want, though his clothes were torn and ragged, and one of his hands was bound up in a dirty white cloth, I knew the man from the first—knew him and shrank at the sight of him, and prayed God that it was a vision. All my consolation, all my imaginings, left me in that moment of foreboding. The breath of the frost seemed to breathe upon my life, the cup of all my bitterness to be full. ‘No longer,’ said I, ‘may Andrea look for a home in the house of the Zaloskis, no longer think that the burden of his years is taken from his shoulders. That was the hope of yesterday. To-day he is a beggar again, and the cup is snatched from little Christine’s lips. Oh, cursed hour!’
“These were my lamentations in the firstminutes of my sorrow, excellency. That Ugo Klun lived I could doubt no more. The apparition which I saw was the apparition of a second of time, and was gone even while I was starting back in my dread of it; yet its reality I never questioned. And when I ran out a little way into the park and looked for footprints upon the snow, I beheld the path of the man, and it was clear to me that he had made on towards Jézero, there, as I assumed, to lie hidden until he could disclose himself advantageously. When that moment would come, or what profit the man would make of his liberty, I could not then foresee; nor had I any proper plan in my mind. My head was too full of the saying ‘He lives,’ my heart burnt too fiercely with anger and with regret of the present, to permit reflection upon the future. This only was I determined upon—that neither the Count nor Christine should learn of that which I had seen. ‘Perchance,’ I said, ‘fear will keep him to the mountains; perchance he will not find courage to claim what right he has. And if he does, then God help him, for I will strike him down with my own hand!’
“The month which followed upon this dreadfulnight, excellency, was one that time will never obliterate from my memory. It was difficult to realise in the unchanging life of the great house that so terrible a shadow lay over it. I saw Christine day by day coming to new health and a more fascinating maturity; I saw Count Paul robbed of his old taciturnity, made more gentle under her winning influence. That the man loved her with a fierce, dominating love, all the world about the château knew. Her presence was the midday of his waking hours. He asked for her so soon as he came from his bedroom in the morning; often his last word at night was an order for her comfort. No longer did the hunt in the woods carry him for days from Jajce. His horses waxed fat in the stables; his woodlanders made merry in their huts; his servants blessed the day when Christine had come between them and their master’s wrath. As for the priest, he had bowed his head to a fate he could not control, and, seeming to have abandoned all scruple as to the death of Ugo Klun, he spent his time in educating her who was to be his mistress and in praising her for accomplishments she did not possess. I alone lived with the shadow on mypath; I alone cried to Heaven in the bitterness of my heart that the sun might shine again upon my hopes.
“Excellency, you may demand to know, and with reason, what steps I had taken to learn the truth of my fancies in the park. Be assured that I had left no work undone that might bring me to a fuller knowledge of the circumstances under which the man had contrived to present himself at the house of Count Paul. I went to the cottage of his father, who could tell me only that his son was dead. I sent letters to Sebenico, to a friend in the police there, asking for a circumstantial account of Ugo Klun’s arrest, and was told in answer that the man had fired upon the corporal sent to take him, and in turn had been shot dead by a trooper. How to reconcile this testimony with that to which my eyes bore witness I knew not. On the one hand, an official declaration; on the other, the apparition of the cloister. Had I been a witless, unthinking fool like those about me, I should have said at once that I had been the victim of hallucination, the creature of the mind’s dreaming. But never yet did a hag’s legend shake my nerves or the voice of the unseenterrify me. I knew that Ugo Klun lived; I felt his presence hovering like the shadow of disaster about the house. God of my life! scarce day or night could I rest, saying to myself always: ‘He will come to-day—to-day the Count will know—to-day I must set out for Sebenico and remember my poverty once more.’ Yet the days passed and he did not come; the days passed, and we grew in happiness—cospetto, the first breath of spring was upon the land, and we lived yet in our garden of delights.”