The next morning he took one of the guns out of the case, and wandered into the snowy forest. He tramped about the whole day without meeting a single human creature. The deer and hares were left in peace, for he stared beyond them into vacancy. At dusk he turned his footsteps homewards, dispirited and worn out.
He saw Regina standing like a statue on the Cats' Bridge looking out for him. At first she looked as if she intended to run and meet him, but she changed her mind, and took the path to the house, smiling and murmuring to herself as she went.
But when she brought in his meal she was as silent as usual. He sat without looking at her till a sound like a short convulsive sob roused him from his reverie.
"What's the matter with you?" he asked.
Without answering, she ran out of the room.
He made a movement as if he were about to follow her; then set his teeth and sat down again. A dull resentment devoured him. He could not forgive her for depriving him of the illusion on which for weeks he had been building so many vague hopes.
Now there was nothing for it but to drink the cup of degradation to the dregs, no matter how bitter the bottom might taste.
In a little while Regina appeared again, in her outdoor things.
"You wish to go out to-night, then?" he asked harshly.
She kept her head half averted, so that he should not see she had red eyes.
"To-morrow is Christmas,Herr--the holy feast day; and the grocer says that on Christmas night he would rather not be disturbed."
Christmas! holy feast! How strange and like a fairy tale that sounded. Then there was still rejoicing and festivity going on in the world! People still joined hands and frolicked round glittering fir-tree!
"You wish to get your Christmas presents, I suppose, Regina?" he inquired, smiling bitterly.
"Oh no,Herr," she replied. "That has never been the custom here. Besides, now I should take no pleasure in such things."
"Why not?"
She hesitated, and then said in some embarrassment, "Let me go,Herr."
"I have a great deal to ask you yet, Regina."
"Please, not now, else----"
"Very well, go."
"Good-night,Herr."
"Good-night." Then he called her back. "Tell me first, what did that sob mean just now."
A ray of half-ashamed happiness shone in the eyes that were swollen from weeping.
"Can't you guess,Herr?"
He shook his head.
"I had been so anxious about you. I thought perhaps you weren't coming back, and then when you did----" She turned and fled through the door. Her footsteps died away in the night....
The following morning Boleslav was awakened by a great rushing and roaring that had for some time mingled with his dreams. A terrific storm was raging. The topmost branches of the poplars lashed each other in fury. Huge white clouds were swept along the ground, but the air was clear. Another fall of snow seemed improbable. To-day he could not rest in the desolate, cold little house, and went out to wrestle with the elements.
"She will have a bad time of it," he thought, as the north wind hurled in his face a shower of fine icicles that pricked like needles and almost took his breath away. In the wood it was more sheltered. There the tempest crashed and crunched in the tops of the trees, seeming to vent all its fury on them. He walked on, not knowing where he was going, and then found himself on the road to Bockeldorf.
"It looks as if I were running after her," he murmured, chiding himself; and he struck into the pathless thicket.
He thought how remarkable it was that this degraded being should creep so much into his thoughts. Of course it was because he had been thrown with her day after day, and depended upon her entirely for human society. Yet he was alarmed, for he realised now, perhaps more than he had ever done before, how he felt himself every day more drawn towards her, and how much there was in her that began to appear comprehensible, excusable, and even noble, that once had only seemed to testify to her innate coarseness, and repelled him from her in disgust.
But without a doubt contact with her was doing him no good. She was drawing him down into the slough of her own worthless existence.
Something must be done. Above all, it was necessary to stand in less familiar relations with her, to repress her, and lower her again to her old position of humble and despised servant-girl. The festival of Christmas was a good opportunity of paying her off with a loan, the handsomeness of which would discharge his obligations to her for all time. With a stroke of the pen he would provide for her future, and thereby purchase the right to regard her as what she actually was--his humble dependant and menial. She should give him her company to-day for the last time. She had not yet finished her evidence, and as he had once broken the ice he might as well know everything. Of those two awful nights of guilt and shame, in which she had been a witness of bloodshed and arson, he would hear the worst.
"And then when she has confessed all," he said to himself, "she shall keep to her green-house, which is her proper place, even if she has to burn all the timber in the park to prevent herself from freezing."
It was not seemly that in this solitude he should associate so much with her, and he made up his mind to put an end to the intimacy once for all.
A hare crossed his path and turned his thoughts into another channel. He aimed and hit it. The little animal rotated three times, and then lay motionless on its nose.
"She will be pleased," he thought, as he slung his booty over his shoulder. Ah! there he was thinking of her again already.
The sky meanwhile had clouded. A sharp shower of prickly white flakes cut through the trees; a wild hiss now mingled with the roar of the wind that made him shiver involuntarily in every limb. By aid of his compass he found the way home. When he entered the open fields the snow-storm was in full swing. He could scarcely stand against it. The air was dark with the falling masses of snow. There was not a trace visible of the shrubs in the park only three hundred feet away.
"It's to be hoped she's got home," he thought, as he struggled on.
Freshly fallen snow lay thick on the Cats' Bridge; there were no footprints in it, but they might easily have been obliterated.
With a sinking heart, he ran to the house and called her by name, but got no answer. The hearth was unswept, the fire out, the beds unmade as he had left them.
She had been overtaken by the storm, that she feared more than she feared the Schrandeners. A torturing uneasiness took possession of him. He rushed from one room to the other, lit the fire and extinguished it again, tried to eat, and then threw down his knife and fork impatiently. It struck him as ludicrous that he should be so anxious. Had she not for six winters gone backwards and forwards in wind and rain and snow, and never yet met with an accident? Why should anything happen to her to-day? To kill time he sat down to his desk, and with numb fingers made out a cheque. The sum amounted to three figures. Regina ought to be satisfied.
Darkness set in. The hand of the clock pointed to three, and yet it was already like night. He could contain himself indoors no longer. He would at least go as far as the Cats' Bridge and see if there was any sign of her. To prevent the wind pitching him over, he was obliged to hold on with all his might to the balustrade. The rickety woodwork shook in all its joints. On the ice beneath him danced a maze of spiral patterns; lily-stems grew upwards and sank again in heaps of white dust, which in their turn were whirled away to make room for other fantastic forms. The Madonna's garden rose for a moment and then vanished; for a figure drew nearer and nearer out of the twilight, casting its shadow before it.
"Regina, thank God!"
He was on the point of rushing to meet her, when he was overcome with a sensation of shame that paralysed his limbs and drove the blood to his heart.
On this very spot where he now waited for her, she had yesterday waited for him; looking out into the dusk because she had not been able to rest for anxiety about him, just as to-day he could not rest for anxiety about her.
For a moment he felt a strong inclination to dive behind the bushes, so that she should not see him; but the next he was ashamed of being ashamed, and stepped forward to meet her on the Cats' Bridge.
"You have had a bad time of it, Regina," he called out; and tried to relieve her of the sack she carried on her back.
But she quickly dodged him, holding out her elbows in protest. She was muffled to the eyes in shawls, and could not speak. They walked to the door in silence. On the threshold she turned and tore the wraps from her face.
"I have a favour to ask,Herr," she said breathlessly.
"Well, what is it?"
"Would you mind staying out another half-hour, or going into the kitchen, so that I can warm the room and tidy up a little?"
"But you must rest first."
"Not now,Herr, if you don't mind."
And she went in, letting her burdens fall to the floor in the darkness.
"She may bustle about in there for a few minutes if she likes," he thought; and turned to look for a temporary shelter among the ruins.
Warm air ascended from the cellars. He struck a light, and went down the slippery steps. He felt curiously light-hearted almost, as if Christmas had brought him joy.
The rows of wine-bottles with their red and green labels peeped at him festively from their places.
"She shall not forget it's Christmas," he said, smiling; and drew from the farthest niche where the treasure of treasures was stored, two or three bottles covered with dust and cobwebs. In these reposed a nectar which had not seen the light since an eighteenth-century sun had shone on it.
His latest resolution occurred to him. Of course, he had not meant to put it into force till to-morrow--not on Christmas evening, when people consort together, who at other times are not congenial to each other. On Christmas evening no one ought to be lonely and sorrowful.
Obedient to Regina's wishes, he patrolled the ruins for half-an-hour beneath a roof of sparkling icicles. Then he put the bottles under his arm, and staggered out into the stormy night.
As he approached his dwelling, he saw with amazement that the shutters were closed, a thing that had never happened before. His first thought was that the storm had penetrated the chinks, but on nearer view be learnt they were still weatherproof. Not till he stood in the vestibule did he find a happy solution to the problem. Regina met him beaming, and half-ashamed, and threw the parlour door wide open. Astounded at what he saw, he remained rooted to the spot. He was greeted by a festive shimmer of candles and a fragrant odour of firs. In the centre of the dining-table, covered with its pure white cloth, stood a Christmas tree, adorned with wax tapers and gilded apples. The whole apartment was brilliantly illuminated.
Never in his life before had a Christmas tree been lit forhim. Only from the thresholds of strangers had he sometimes looked on with dim eyes at strangers' happiness. And where was Regina? She had retreated behind him, and stood in the remotest corner of the vestibule, watching him with shy yet proud delight.
He took hold of her hand and led her into the room.
"Who put it into your head, child?" he asked.
"The grocer's wife was trimming her Christmas tree when I got there at three o'clock, and I thought it so pretty I said to myself,heshall have his tree too, and shall know that there is at least one person to think of him. I asked her to show me how to gild apples, and gilded a supply while I was there, and bought the lights and got a sack to put the tree in, so that you shouldn't see it."
"And who gave you the tree?"
"I cut it down myself at the edge of the forest not far from here."
"In the middle of this storm?"
She laughed contemptuously. "A little wind wouldn't hinder me,Herr," And then with a sudden outburst of joyous ecstasy, she exclaimed, "Oh, just look,Herr, how beautifully it burns! How pious it looks. Hasn't it really a sort of pious face, as if an angel had brought it?"
He assented, laughing, and expressed his thanks in a few words of forced condescension, for he was afraid of being too gracious.
But she was more than satisfied. "Why should you thank me,Herr?" she asked reproachfully. "It's all bought with your money. I have none. I'm only a poor girl. Else, ah, else--" She threw up her hands and clasped them above her head.
The cheque came into his mind. "This is to show you," he said, handing it to her, "that I have thought of your Christmas too."
She looked at him in bewilderment. "Am I to read it?" she asked, respectfully taking the piece of paper between two of her fingers. After studying it carefully, she still looked perplexed.
"Don't you understand what it is?" he asked.
"Oh yes--I understand ... But to begin with, you can't be in earnest. And even if you are, ... what good is it to me?"
"It will provide for your future."
"My future is provided for.... I have all I want. Good food, ... and I am dressed like a lady. What can I possibly want besides?"
"But we may not go on living always together like this."
She gave a cry of dismay. "Are you thinking of packing me off,Herr?" she asked with tightly clasped hands.
"Not now. But suppose I were to die."
She shook her head meditatively. "I should die too," she said.
"Or I might have to go to the war again?"
"Then I should go with you as a vivandière."
Her persistence annoyed him. "Do as you like," he said, "only take what I give you."
A bright idea seemed to occur to her.
"All right,Herr," she exclaimed, "I'll take it, only next Christmas I shall buy you something with it, that will be worth having." And happy at the thought, she scampered away.
The Christmas-tree had burnt out. It stood now dark and neglected in the corner by the stove, only occasionally casting a glimmer from its golden fruit on the table where master and servant sat opposite each other.
Regina had been accorded permission to take her supper with him this evening, and had been too overcome to swallow a mouthful. She was almost stunned with this great and unexpected pleasure.
Now the dishes were cleared away, and only bottles and glasses stood between them. She drank, thoughtlessly, of the old fire-kindling wine in long immoderate draughts. Her face began to glow. The pupils of her brilliant eyes seemed to melt beneath their drooping lids. She rocked to and fro on her chair. A wild abandon had relaxed her in every limb.
"Are you tired, Regina?"
She shook her head impatiently. For once her constraint in his presence had disappeared. There was something even approaching audacity in the brilliancy of her glance as she turned it on him from time to time. She was intoxicated with happiness. He too felt the wine flame up in him; and his eyes were riveted on her figure, which swayed before him with the graceful motions of a Mænad.
All the time the tempest raged outside. It whistled in the chimney and hurled a rattling fusilade against the window shutters. There was a grinding and crunching among the rafters of the roof, which sounded as if the mouldy wood were collapsing.
"I am afraid something will be blown down," he said as he listened.
"Maybe," she answered with a dreamy smile, huddling herself together. And then she began to babble in a fragmentary but quite unrestrained fashion. "Perhaps it isn't good for me,Herr," she said, "that you are so kind to me. All my life I have never got anything but blows and abuse--first from my father, then from him, not to mention other people. But if you spoil me,Herr, I shall get proud--and pride is a great vice, I have heard the Pastor say--I shall begin to think I'm a princess who needn't earn her bread."
She burst into a peal of wild laughter, and let her arms fall to her sides. Then in a low tone, as if conversing with herself, she went on--
"Sometimes I do wonder if I am only a servant. I often feel really as if I were some enchanted princess, and you,Herr, the knight who is to deliver me. Will you be the knight?"
She blinked at him over her wine-glass. He nodded in friendly acquiescence. Let her revel in her strange fancies. It was Christmas.
"There have been cases," she continued, "in which princesses have been turned into quite common sluts. They have had stones thrown at them, and been spat at, and men have called after them, 'Strike her down, the dirty slut!' And all the time they were princesses in disguise."
"Do you believe in fairy tales, then?" he asked, wondering.
She laughed to herself. "Not exactly,Herr. But when one passes so many hours alone, and has to take long solitary walks as I have, one must think. And when the rain beats down, and the wind blows.... Hark at it now, what a to-do it's making.... Think of me tramping along in this--and I have often been out when it's as bad, but I've never lost my way. And sometimes, when I come into the wood, I have asked myself, 'Which would you rather be? A queen sitting on a golden throne, or the Catholics' Holy Virgin, who had our dear Lord and Saviour for her little boy; or would you rather be the devil's grandmother, and bury all the Schrandeners in a manure-heap; or a noble lady and----" She paused.
"And?" he queried.
She drew herself up, and laughed in embarrassment.
"I can't tell you that--it is too silly. But I had only to choose which I'd be. And as I march along through the night shadows, I often imagine I am one or other, till all of a sudden I find myself in Bockeldorf, just as if I'd flown there--often I think I am flying. Ah! things do happen in real life, after all, very much the same as in the fairy tales. Don't you think so,Herr?"
He contemplated her with curiosity and wonder, as if he had never seen her before. And truly it was the first time he had looked into her secret soul. Now, when her tongue was loosened by wine, much was revealed in her that before he had either not observed or not understood.
"Blissful creature!" he murmured.
"Am I?" she replied, boldly planting her elbows on the table, and regarding him with an expression of joyous inquiry. "You mean, because I'm sitting here with you drinking wine and being treated as if I were human? Oh! it's exactly like being in heaven.... Do you think I shall ever go to heaven?... I don't. I am far too wicked!... And I think, too, I should be afraid to go there. It must be much livelier in hell.... I should be more at home there. The Herr Pastor often said I was like a little devil, and I never fretted about it. Why should I? It seemed quite natural that I should be the little devil and Helene the angel. An excellent arrangement.... Didn't Helene,Herr, look just like an angel in the flesh? So pink and white and delicate, with her blue eyes and folded hands. And she always wore ... a pretty ribbon ... round her neck ... and smelt always of ... rose-scented soap...."
A cold shiver passed through him. He felt it was degrading both to himself and the beloved to allow this half-tipsy girl to speak of her as if she were an equal.
"Stop!" he demanded hoarsely.
She only answered him with a dreamy smile. Wine and fatigue suddenly overpowered her. She lay stretched out, her head thrown back on the arm of the chair, and fought against sleep, like a Bacchante exhausted after a whirl of dissipation.
A great anger, that rose and fell within him like the sound of the storm outside, mastered him.
"This is what wine does," he thought, and yet drank more.
He wanted to wake her, to send her out, but he could not tear his eyes away from her face, and by degrees he became gentler again.
"She meant no harm," he thought, as he moved nearer to where she lay. "This is the last time she will sit here with me; to-morrow a new leaf will be turned. After to-morrow she shall find in me nothing but the master."
Then he remembered all he had wanted to ask her.
"Well, never mind," he said to himself, "it can't be helped. Why spoil her Christmas? Some other time will do."
The hurricane without seemed to have increased in fury. It roared through the keyholes, and battered the shutters. How brutally cruel it was to drive her out to sleep in a greenhouse on a night like this! But what was the use of being compassionate when it had to be done?
"Regina!" he shouted, and tapped her on the shoulder. At that moment there was a terrific thundering crash, that made the walls tremble as from a shock of earthquake. Regina screamed loud in her sleep and tried to grasp his hand, then sank back again into her old position. He went out to see what was the cause of the noise. Nothing had fallen in the vestibule, but on opening the door of the greenhouse snow drifted in his face just as if he had walked into the open air. All round was inky darkness. He went back to fetch his lantern. It shed its light on a scene of ruin that exceeded his worst expectations. Regina's little kingdom, from which she had ruled and regulated the ménage so unostentatiously, had seemingly been dispersed to the four winds of heaven. The roof was blown off, and had torn up part of the wall with it. Between the hearth and the door was a barricade of snow as tall as himself, riddled with bricks, beams, and splinters of glass.
What was to be done now? Where was Regina to sleep? Should he too let her lie like a dog on his threshold? No! rather would he turn out into the ruins himself, and seek a couch down in the cellar. It was imperative to act at once, and there was only one thing to be done. He drew Regina's bedding out of the snow, shook it thoroughly till not a flake remained hanging to it, and then dragged it into his room. Beneath the shadow of the Christmas-tree in the corner by the stove he made up a bed on the boards.
Regina slept peacefully, her face illumined by the light from the oil lamp. He came close to her, shook and called her by name; but nothing could wake her. At last he lifted her up, to carry her to the bed.
She gave a deep sigh, encircled his neck with her arms, and let her head sink on his shoulder.
His heart beat faster. The fair body in the first bloom of its superb young womanhood, gave him a sensation of fear and uneasiness as it unconsciously rested on him. He half carried, half trailed her across the room. Her warm breath fanned his face, her hair swept his throat.
As he let her sink on her mattress she raised her arms, with a gesture of longing, in the air, and pulled down the little fir-tree. He drew it from under her, and then placed it as a screen and sentinel between himself and her. "To-morrow I'll rig up a partition," he thought. Then he undressed and went to bed.
The night-light burnt out, but there was no thought of sleep for him. The tempest still raged, and spent its fury on the locks and bolts. Boleslav heeded it not. While he listened to the sleeping woman's breath, his own fell on the night, in heavily-drawn, anxious gasps.
"To His Lordship, Baron Boleslavvon Schranden, of Castle Schranden.
"Your Hochwohlgeboren is requested to appear in person on January 3rd, anni futuri, at two o'clock in the afternoon, at Herr Merckel's official residence, and to bring the requisite papers relating to your Hochwohlgeboren's attachment, or non-attachment, to the Prussian Landwehr.
"(Signed)Royal Landrath V. Krotkeim,
Representative of Military Affairsfor the District."
Boleslav found this communication in the drawbridge letter-box on New Year's morning. The threatening nature of its contents did not at once strike him; he was only staggered at the authorities taking the trouble to investigate his case. He had resolved, on again adopting his father's name, to let the waters of oblivion close over Lieutenant Baumgart. He had discharged his duty to his country unconditionally; bolder and more self-sacrificing than thousands of others, he had gone to face death. Now that there was peace, and he had taken a great burden of inherited guilt on his shoulders, he had wished to avoid being involved in any way with official red-tapism.
Only gradually did he realise the new dangers that were gathering on his horizon. Pride in his past as a soldier, afforded him the one prop and stay in his present ruined life, and he felt that slipping from under his feet. He stood defenceless in face of imminent peril. It would need only a littlemalice prepenseto make him out a deserter from the flag, and the fact of his having borne a false name would go far to establish his guilt.
The son of Baron von Schranden had no reason to hope that justice would be tempered with mercy in his case. He would also have no reason to complain of harsh measures, if he were put under arrest on the spot, and brought before a court-martial of the standing branch of his regiment.
For a moment he entertained thoughts of flight, but afterwards thrust the idea from him in scorn. He had too often valued his life cheaply, to now think seriously of stealing into Poland to end his wretched career in safety.
But what would become of Regina?
At the thought of her, his heart smote him. She had no suspicion of the new troubles with which he was encompassed. Since Christmas night he had not addressed a single word to her that was not absolutely necessary, and even then his voice had been imperious and severe. The thought of her now seemed interwoven with a presentiment of coming calamity, which oppressed him like a nightmare.
At night he tossed about restlessly among his pillows. She never stirred in her corner. Apparently she fell asleep the moment she lay down. But her soft, quick, regular breathing was sometimes broken by a sigh. Perhaps, after all, she was not sleeping, but watching, listening, as he listened....
And then the day dawned on which Boleslav's fate was to be decided. Towards morning he had fallen into an uneasy sleep, and was first awakened by the smoke that poured into the room from the vestibule, where he had erected a temporary fireplace, which would have to do as a makeshift till milder weather made the repairing of the glass root practicable. It was a clear, frosty morning. The sunshine jewelled the hoar-frost on the twigs, and dark purple shadows crept along the dazzling sheets of snow.
He spent the morning in arranging his papers. All that was compromising to his father's memory should be destroyed, for were he put under arrest, as seemed likely, strangers' hands would meddle in this vortex. He held the sorted letters in his hand ready to burn in the stove, when he thought better of it. If he really were serious in his intentions of bearing his father's guilt, he ought to conceal or destroy nothing in order to lighten the burden. It was not worth while purchasing truth with falsehood. Rather die in disgrace, than live in honour founded on lies and deceit.
When Regina brought him his midday meal he vacillated an instant, as to whether he should tell her all or nothing. But he shrank from a touching scene, and decided on the latter course. A letter would serve the same purpose. So he wrote: "If I am not back at dusk, probably you will have difficulty in seeing me again. Inquire at the Landrath's office in Wartenstein. There they will tell you what has become of me. I advise you to leave Schranden at once. The draft I gave you will supply your wants. What else remains shall all be yours later. Good-bye, and accept my thanks."
He left the note in a conspicuous place, so that, when she cleared away, she would find it. He was in a hard and embittered mood, and in no humour for a sentimental farewell.
But as he passed Regina in the vestibule where she was occupied with the fire, he felt a strong impulse to press her hand. For her sake, as much as for his own, he went out without giving her a word or a look. A group of staring louts, who appeared to be waiting for him, were loafing near the drawbridge. When they saw him coming, they ran off helter-skelter with loud exclamations, to the inn.
"My heralds," he said, and laughed.
Long before the stated hour the parlour of the Black Eagle could not hold all the customers that poured in, anxious to secure a foremost place for the proceedings. There was an overflow that extended as far as the churchyard square. Every one was eager to witness with his own eyes the final degradation of the last of the Barons of Schranden.
Three months had passed since the petition had been sent to the judicial authorities of the province, and even the most zealous patriots had begun to despair of its producing any results. Then at last had come the delightful intimation from the office of the Landrath, that a day had been appointed to wind up the case of the Crownv. Schranden,aliasBaumgart, and the presence of the petitioners was urgently requested at the inquiry.
The Schrandeners had armed themselves in a way worthy of the occasion. For three days they had been busy polishing up their accoutrements. Those among the disbanded Landwehr-men who still possessed theirLitewkahad donned it, and pikes and sabres were seen in the crowd. Possibly they might be called upon to help in an instantaneous administration of justice.
The Landrath's sleigh had entered the village at one o'clock, and, as was customary, put up at the parsonage stable, where Herr Merckel and his son stood ready to welcome the high functionary. There was no gendarme on the box, which greatly mystified the Schrandeners. But perhaps the services of one were not required when they could be depended on to despatch the criminal at the first signal.
Shortly before two, the Landrath, accompanied by the old pastor, left the parsonage and entered the inn by a side door, where Herr Merckel, senior, again was to the fore to receive him, while Felix slouched in the background, piqued at not being treated with what he considered sufficient respect by the civilian.
The Landrath von Krotkeim was a tall, extremely slender man, whose hoary leonine head rose with great effect from his contracted, sloping shoulders. There was something awe-inspiring in its pose. He wore, in defiance of the fashion of the period, long whiskers, which flowed behind his ears, mingling with his thick iron-grey mane.
His part in the formation of defences for the Fatherland had been an important and distinguished one. Two years before he had sat as a deputy for the knighthood in the famousLand-tagto which Germany owed the foundation of the Landwehr. He had hailed old York with cheers, and helped to draw up the address to the King. Afterwards he had hastened back to his native place to set the organisation on foot, and had achieved results which made his district the brilliant model that excited the admiring emulation of the whole country. Then arose those marauders attendant on success, vanity and egoism. What at first had been a labour of noble disinterestedness, gradually degenerated into a peg for self-advertisement and a means of memorialising his own fame. For the rest, and long before the treachery of the Cats' Bridge incident had been generally made known to the world, Herr von Krotkeim had by repute been a bitter enemy of the house of Schranden. To hope any favour at his hands would therefore be over-sanguine indeed. But Boleslav had abandoned hope of any kind as he entered the square in front of the church. He advanced composed, and almost indifferent, towards the crowd that formed a cordon round the inn. He had, on his way, cast one shy glance at the parsonage, where in a window he fancied he had seen a fair face which withdrew into shadow directly he smiled up at it. He was received by a murmur of malignant tongues, but the cordon let him through, understanding enough to know that, without him, the game they were anticipating with such keen relish could not be played.
At the entrance to the best parlour, he stood face to face with the great man with the lion's mane, on either side of whom sat the old pastor and Herr Merckel. Felix lounged in the window-sill, trying to assume an air of nonchalance. He now considered his former playmate too inferior an object on which even to bestow his hate. But the old landlord greeted Boleslav with a benign smile. Had he come there with the purpose of treating every one present to a bottle of the celebrated Muscat wine, the smile could not have been more smugly servile.
Lightning-flashes irradiated from beneath the prominent brows of the old pastor, and the Landrath sat coolly contemplating his fingers, which were white and bony as a skeleton's. Boleslav felt his bosom swell proudly. "His hand against every man; every man's hand against him." It was the old story!
A voice from the crowd hiccoughed out some unflattering remark. The Schrandeners received it with laughter.
"It's the poor father, the unhappy father," old Merckel whispered to the Landrath, with a melancholy elevation of his eyebrows.
"As you have summoned me here," exclaimed Boleslav, "I demand your protection from the insults of the mob!"
The Landrath drooped his eyelids and bowed.
"Silence, dear people!" he commanded, stroking his clean-shaven chin, and then he added, "I shall have any person who makes a disturbance ejected."
He consulted a green portfolio that lay spread before him on the table. Behind him a little man in grey was energetically trying goose quills. Probably he was the reporter.
The examination began. With frigid politeness the Landrath put the usual questions.
"Where have you resided hitherto?"
Boleslav enumerated several places.
"Your word is of course to be trusted,Herr Baron, but have you proofs?"
"No."
"Up to what date does your answer hold good?"
"Till the spring of the year '13."
"After that?"
"I entered the army."
"Have you proofs to support that statement?"
"No."
"I regret to say that the name von Schranden is not to be found in the army list."
"I enlisted under another."
"Under the name of Baumgart?"
"Yes."
"For what reason?"
There was silence. Boleslav bit his lips.
"Ha, ha!" came triumphantly from the window. The exclamation put Boleslav on his mettle.
"To have borne my real name would have involved me in difficulties."
"Why?"
"Because, through a rumour which I was powerless to contradict, there was a blot on that name."
"What rumour?"
It was clear this man intended to humiliate him to the dust before passing on him the inevitable sentence.
"You know it," he murmured faintly between his closed teeth.
The Landrath bowed. "Nevertheless I must ask for information on the subject."
"I decline to give it."
The mob sent up a shout of scornful laughter.
"Do for him at once! put him in chains!" roared the same hiccoughing voice that had made use of an abusive epithet earlier in the proceedings.
The Landrath gracefully waved his long white hands.
"A note has been made of that refusal?" he asked without turning round.
A small quavering pipe behind him, which greatly amused the Schrandeners, answered in the affirmative.
Then he continued with imperturbable politeness.
"May I ask you, then, to tell me to which company you were attached?"
Boleslav did so, and also gave the names of his Heide comrades.
The Landrath turned over the leaves of his portfolio with an air of ennui. The concerns of the volunteer Jägers evidently had no interest for him.
"You were elected officer?"
"Yes."
"I do not doubt your word,Herr Baron, but have you proofs to backthisstatement?"
"No."
"A note must be made of that negative. And then you entered the Landwehr?"
"Yes."
"Your reason?"
Boleslav indicated, with a motion of his head, the companion of his boyhood.
"Because I did not wish to meet that man."
Felix gave a scoffing laugh, and exclaimed, "Else the swindle would----" A sign from the Landrath silenced him.
"Your Landwehr regiment, if you please?"
Boleslav cited the commandant's name.
The Landrath bowed low over the portfolio till his shock of hair almost concealed his faded shrunken face.
"So far that coincides with my information," he said, and then read: "There was a Lieutenant Baumgart, who at the time of the armistice entered the regiment. Besides him there were four other officers of this name in the army. The one in question, however, met his death between the 1st and 3rd of March on the Marne."
"How did you learn that,Herr Landrath?"
"It is in the Gazette,Herr Baron. He is said to have been sent on a special mission, and shot by grenadiers in General Marmont's corps."
Boleslav felt his blood mount swiftly to his brow. The proudest and most arduous moments of his life rose vividly before him. "That is a mistake," he cried; "Lieutenant Baumgart fell into the hands of the enemy severely wounded, but escaped with his life."
"And it is your desire to be identified with that fallen emissary?"
"I believe I have clearly shown that it is my desire."
"Very well, that being so, you will of course be able to relate the incidents of the special mission."
"Certainly."
"Please proceed."
"The volunteers had been charged to get a message delivered to General von Kleist. Some days before a skirmish had taken place on the banks of a river, Therouanne by name, through which the General and his corps were cut off from communication with the main army. A reunion was not to be effected owing to Marmont's and Mortier's troops, to which Napoleon himself was said to be marching, stopping the way. Field-Marshal Blücher suddenly resolved to retreat, in order, I believe, to pick up reinforcements, and therefore it was, under the circumstances, urgent to let General von Kleist know at once, in case he should find himself entirely isolated. It was necessary for the messenger to evade the enemy's outposts at night-time. Among those who volunteered to go on the mission, choice fell on me. Major von Schaek led me to the Field-Marshal, who entrusted me with a letter----"
"One moment, please," interrupted the Landrath, searching diligently among his papers; then he added casually, "And the letter of course contained the necessary command."
"No."
"What, then?"
"The letter was designed to deceive the enemy in case I should be shot from my horse on the way. The Field-Marshal desired me to give his command by word of mouth. I had to learn it by heart."
"How did it run?"
"As follows: 'If on the morrow the enemy attacks us on the right flank, General von Kleist is not to join in the engagement, but to seize the opportunity of gaining the command of the Marne from the south, so that he may bring himself in touch with me.En routeseveral bridges are to be destroyed.'"
The Landrath nodded. "And then--Lieutenant?"
"I succeeded in delivering the message."
"You managed to evade the enemy and reach your goal?"
"I hope you have found proofs of it,Herr Landrath, in the history of the war----"
"Hum! When were you wounded?"
"On the way back."
"Why did you not remain where you were?"
"Because I had undertaken to bring the Field-Marshal an answer."
"You might have spared yourself this second act of daring."
"I might have spared myself the first also."
"You wanted to achieve fame?"
"I wanted among other things to escape the privilege of this cross-examination."
The Landrath straightened himself and threw back his mane. "Permit me to draw your attention to the fact that you stand before the representative of your king, Herr Baron von Schranden."
"Barefaced impudence!" muttered the voice at the window.
"I stand before my undoer," replied Boleslav, looking steadily into the Landrath's eyes.
He fixed them on his papers again, with a suppressed smile. "I have now come to the last stage of my investigation," he continued. "It cannot be denied that your statements bear a strong resemblance to the facts, and that your claim to be one and the same person as the Lieutenant Baumgart who served in the Silesian Landwehr under Major von Wolzogen has gained in probability. Only this admission has to be weighed in the scale against the impossibility of an honourable officer, as the said Baumgart seems to have been, turning his back on the army in which he had won honours and wounds, and deserting its standard. He must have known a company of soldiers could not be dispersed like a flock of sparrows. And to think that the Landwehr"--his chest swelled and he tossed his mane,--"the glorious Landwehr, that has always stood in the first rank for courage, love of order, and discipline, should have thus been hoodwinked! Freiherr von Schranden, I fervently hope that Lieutenant Baumgart was not guilty of this transgression, and am therefore bound to wish that he met his death."
Boleslav felt the crisis was approaching. He glanced round him and saw everywhere eyes flaming with hate and thirst for vengeance. Felix Merckel had laid his hand on the handle of his sabre, as if in another moment he would raise it. From the throngs behind him came a clash and din of arms. Malignant satisfaction beamed on the face of the old host of the Black Eagle. Only the pastor sat with his dishevelled head bowed in his hands, staring despondently on the floor.
"It is not my fault,Herr Landrath, that the dead man has been brought to life. He did his duty, I think. Why should he not have been allowed to rest in peace?"
The Landrath shrugged his shoulders.
"A public indictment cannot be ignored."
"An indictment!" cried Boleslav, his anger blazing up, and his eye met young Merckel's.
There he read, in unmistakable characters, the story of the shameless plot against him. He smiled in disgust.
"I see that I am answerable to a military tribunal," he said. "I was prepared for it. I beg you now to arrest me."
The mob pushed forward as if anxious to take him at his word without delay. Boleslav, who all this time had been standing on the threshold of the inner parlour, was hurled forward against the table, within a hair's-breadth of the Landrath, while the fists of his enemies touched his neck from behind.
"Patience, my dear friends," said the Landrath in an amicable tone. "The first who lays hands on him will himself be put in chains. One more question,Herr Baron. If you were taken prisoner, as you maintain, how was it that later, when the disbanding followed, you were not registered and discharged in the regular order?"
"The French, in their hurried flight, left me lying on the field, as I was badly wounded. I was picked up by some peasants, in whose house I lay for months at death's door. When I was able to leave my rescuers, peace had been concluded, and there were no allies in the neighbourhood."
"Your word of honour is of course sacred,Herr Baron, but perhaps you can substantiate this with proof?"
"Only with my scars,Herr Landrath."
"Ah!... Make a note of that----" He pushed back his leonine locks from his brow, and seemed to be bracing himself for an impressive summing up--
"My friends! Indomitable defenders of your country, and inhabitants of Schranden! The founding of the Landwehr was the rising of a new sun, which has never ceased to cast new lustre on the fame of Prussia. Let us congratulate ourselves that we have been born in a time when such great things have been demanded of us, and that we have proved ourselves worthy of, and equal to the demand. Especially in this district, and foremost in this district the parish of Schranden. If we look round us, we see a very different spectacle in other quarters. Not everywhere did the King's appeal meet with such a warm and spontaneous echo.
"Oh, my friends, our hearts bleed when we hear of how, in the districts of Konitz and Stargard, for example, to escape serving, men took refuge in the woods, and lay full-length amongst the wheat till they had to be baited like bulls. Thousands took flight across the frontier, and thus shirked the conscription altogether. And often what had been beautifully drilled companies overnight, by the morning were transformed into a shapeless mass of panic-stricken deserters. But not in the district that I have had the pleasure of mobilising.
"In less than two weeks, friends and comrades, the Landwehr of the Wartenstein district was ready drilled and armed from top to toe. The levies were double in strength what the government had required of us, and eighty per cent, consisted of volunteers. From the parish of Schranden came only volunteers."
The crowd set up loud hurrahs, and the pastor nodded and smiled in grim satisfaction. He knew whose work that had been.
"I must admit," continued the Landrath, with a chilling sidelong glance at Boleslav, "that the parish of Schranden has one hideous stain on its reputation"--(several loud imprecations were audible)--"a stain which in spite of all its deeds of bravery will never be dissociated from it" (renewed curses); "but if it is the King's pleasure to overlook it, and only to see the brighter side, his graciousness is due to those who, in defending his realm, have rendered him such able services, whose leader I am happy and proud to call myself. The King's favour--('Why does he harp thus on the King's favour,' thought Boleslav, 'when he might wind up the case and be done with it')--has been abundantly lavished on us, and we are almost overpowered with his blessings. Yet let all who reap the fruits of the harvest remember they owe it to the men of the Landwehr, and not least to their organiser, who sowed for them the seeds of undying fame."
Again he began to turn over the leaves of his portfolio, then he went on: "Take your caps off, intrepid inhabitants of Schranden. Attention, my brave men! Gentlemen, if you please, rise! Whoever keeps his cap on at the back there will be ejected. I am commissioned to read over to you an order of the Cabinet of supreme import. It is as follows: 'Should it prove true that the Freiherr von Schranden of Schloss Schranden and Lieutenant Baumgart of the 15th Regiment of the Silesian Landwehr, be one and the same person, and that, as was naturally supposed of so fearless an officer, he had no real intentions of deserting, I appoint him to a captaincy in my Landwehr, and entrust him with the command of the company in his division. I also bestow on him, in recognition of his extraordinary valour and distinguished service, the iron cross of the first class. The Landrath for the district shall invest him with these honours in the presence of his accusers.--Friedrich Wilhelm Rex.'"
The proclamation was received in profound silence. The patriotic Schrandeners stood glowering at each other in consternation. Felix Merckel had sunk back on the window-seat. His fingers clutched convulsively at the cross that shone between the black froggings on his coat. Boleslav felt a buzzing sensation in his head. He was obliged to cling to the door for support, for he feared he might swoon. Not joy, only infinite bitterness, welled up within him. He bit his lips hard to keep back his tears.
The Landrath drew a small black case from the depths of his coat pocket, and presented it to Boleslav with an exaggeratedly obsequious bow. The cover sprang back. The black smoothly polished scrap of iron, on its background of blue velvet, seemed surrounded by a halo of shimmering light. Boleslav grasped it with one hand in growing excitement, while he offered his other to the Landrath. The latter retreated a step or two, closely regarding his long, white, skinny hands, as if the act of handing over the case had done them some injury. Then he deliberately hid them behind his back.
"Herr Landrath, I offered you my hand," cried Boleslav threateningly, flushing darkly at this new insult.
"According to his Majesty's wishes I have discharged my duty. My instructions did not include a shake of the hand."
At this moment a cross, like the one Boleslav had just received, flew through the air and alighted at his feet Felix Merckel had torn it from his breast. Swelling with righteous indignation, he swaggered up to the official, whom he now felt sure he had no reason to be afraid of, and cried--
"There it may lie. I don't want it now. Any decent soldier would be ashamed to wear it when such asheis decorated with it."
A cry of mingled pain and fury escaped Boleslav's lips, and with raised fists he turned fiercely on his enemy.
Felix Merckel unsheathed his sabre, as if with the intention of hewing down the unarmed man. But the old landlord threw his corpulent form between them. The Landrath confined himself to waving his hands soothingly; and the pastor vigilantly kept watch on his Schrandeners. He knew his flock, and read murder in their glance.
"Back there! keep back!" he shouted to the tumultuous throng in a voice of brass. With outstretched arms he sprang into the doorway, where already a line of pikes appeared, ready to fell the victim from behind.
Boleslav looked round and saw with a shudder how near he stood to death.
The pastor, clinging to the roof of the doorway, endeavoured to stem the murderous tide. Would that frail and venerable frame be able to repulse this onslaught of unmuzzled wolves? Would it not be swept away on the crest of this bloodthirsty wave? A weak shield to rely on, indeed! Yet his was the only authority not swamped by the tumult. The Landrath's protesting hands waved impotently above the seething heads, like limp towels; the gentle flutelike tones in which he declared the ringleaders of the disturbance should be turned out and bludgeoned were totally ignored. His parasite, the little portfolio bearer, had taken the precaution to creep under the table.
A voice within Boleslav cried, "What! You will let this old man protect you? Cannot you protect yourself?" And a wild resolve consumed him. This seemed a moment given him to balance his account with fate--a moment of all others in which cowardice was to be avoided. He caught hold of the old pastor in a grip of iron and drew him aside.
"This is my place, reverend sir," he said, and planted himself in the doorway.
He stretched out his arms above him, as the old man had done, and offered his breast as a target for the pointed weapons. His eye penetrated unflinchingly into the heart of the struggling and ramping mob before him. He felt the foam from their mouths bespatter him, and their hot, foul breath fan his face.
"Here I stand!" he cried. "I have left my pistols at home; so you can make short work of me. Any of you who have the courage."
But no one had the courage, for his back was not turned to them now. Sabres were lowered, pikes dropped.
"I see--you don't wish to assassinate me after all," he said, holding them with his eyes. "You are going to behave yourselves like men, and not like wild beasts. Very well, then, I will speak to you as to reasonable men. Move backwards and keep quiet."
The crowd wavered; the next moment he had the threshold to himself.
"And now--speak! Tell me what you want with me?"
There was no answer, no sound in the room except the laboured breathing of excited lungs.
"You hate me. You would like to take my life. Tell me why? Here in the presence of a representative of the King whom we all serve and fear, in the presence of a representative of the God in whom I believe and you too--tell me what I have done? I submit myself to their judgment. Now is your opportunity of charging me."
But the silence continued. Only one spluttering voice arose for a moment and died away in a gurgle, as if it were being stifled by force.
"You are dumb. You cannot say what my offence has been,--and you, gentlemen! Won't you come to the assistance of these poor, speechless people? There on the ground lies a cross, the mark of honour our nation cherishes more highly than any other, which some one threw away, because through my possessing one like it, he considered it contaminated. Some one else declined to shake hands with me just now, a common act of courtesy which no man of honour refuses another unless he be a blackguard. It does not matter,Herr Landrath, if in this instance judges and accusers unite in a common cause. Accuse me of what you like, condemn me! I am prepared."
Another long pause. The Landrath twisted his whiskers in embarrassment.
"And you,Herr Pastor--it is hardly fitting that I should call the instructor of my youth to account--but some months ago you showed me the door in your own house. Could you not be spokesman now for your parishioners?"
The old man's jaws worked, his lips moved, but no sound issued from them. He appeared to have exhausted his strength, but the wild, fiery glance he darted from beneath his bushy brows boded no good to Boleslav.
With a laugh he went on. "Then I must be my own accuser." He felt intoxicated with his own courage. "Your hand against every man, and every man's hand against you," cried jubilantly within him. "You think you ought to visit the sins of the fathers on me; empty the vials of your wrath on my head because you cannot reach the dead. Very well. I am his heir. I take his guilt upon me, and do not refuse to do penance, when right and justice demand it of me. But why were no steps taken against the dead man himself? Why was he not tried? Why not dragged to the scaffold when he deserved it?Herr Landrath, I ask you, as the embodiment of the law, why did the State remain silent and suffer these gallant men who smarted under wrong to take revenge into their own hands? And such a revenge! So childish, so cruel, that one would have thought it could only have occurred to the primitive brain of bloodthirsty savages. Revenge for a deed which at this hour I neither admit nor deny, because it lies shrouded in mystery. Which of you can say how it happened, or whether it happened at all? And in spite of this uncertainty, you have damned and defamed him and his race, deprived them of honour and justice. Is that fair play? Now I ask you to put us on our trial, me, and the dead man, and----" He paused, shocked at the thought that he had nearly let fall Regina's name.
The pastor's eagle eye flashed ominously. Then collecting himself, he continued: "Inquire, speak out unravel the mystery, clear up the matter, and then judge and pass sentence. But at the same time sit in judgment and pass sentence on that other crime, the crime that has wrecked my property, and leaves me only uninhabitable ruins to live in, a crime that cries aloud to Heaven for vengeance. On the subject of other outrages and indignities I will be silent--threats of murder to me and mine; the blocking of the churchyard entrance to my father's funeral cortège--all that shall pass. But the fire,thatI swear shall be avenged! If till to-day justice has been blind to my wrongs, its eyes shall be wrenched open. I will not rest day or night till I have dragged the skulking authors of that cowardly, atrocious deed into the light of day, and may God have mercy on those who attempt to screen or defend them."
Again the mob showed signs of uneasiness. Its foremost ranks pressed back on the others, as if to fly from the vengeance of the wrathful man who had addressed them in words of such burning indignation. Again from the neighbourhood of the window came hoarse, stuttering laughter that was choked off as before.
The occupants of the best parlour made an effort to appear as if they had not been listening to Boleslav. The Landrath, who was really painfully affected, busied himself with more zeal than ever in looking through his papers. Old Merckel had picked up the discarded cross, and was trying to persuade his son, who resisted sulkily, to wear it again. The little man in grey had come out from under the table, and was employing himself in carefully rubbing dust off his knees. Only the old pastor was on the alert. He had propped his stick against the table; the thin white hair that floated round his bald skull quivered. He stood looking, with his vulture profile, and small eyes flashing beneath his sharply projecting brows, like a bird of prey waiting to pounce on its booty.
Had Boleslav caught sight of him at that moment, he might have hesitated to make a fresh challenge. But he wanted to score all along the line and complete his victory.
"In order that there may be a clear understanding between us," he cried, "that all may see who has right on his side and who wrong, I ask, which of you has a charge to prefer against me? To whom have I done an injury? How have I sinned?"
Then the voice of the old pastor was raised behind him. "Is Hackelberg, the carpenter, here?"
Boleslav winced. That voice so close to his ear sounded intimidating and uncanny, and prophetic of coming evil. There was a scuffling and swaying in the crowd. The ragged figure of the village drunkard, by means of shoves and kicks, was propelled forward into the front row. He struggled and beat the air with his hands, and when forced on to the threshold of the inner parlour, tried to duck beneath the legs of the men on either side of him.
"There is nothing to be afraid of, Hackelberg," said the pastor. "I will see that you are not hurt."
Reassured, he drew himself up, and scanned the gentlemen he had been brought before with a suspicious, glassy eye.
"What creature is this?" inquired the Landrath, scandalised. "Why is he not put under restraint?"
"Because his condition is owing more to his misfortune than his fault," the pastor answered.
Herr Merckel thought it his duty to whisper an explanation to his superior.
"He is the poor father so much to be pitied," he said, with a mock pathetic air, "whose sad story I related to yourHochwohlgeboren."
At the same time he watched uneasily some Schrandeners, who seemed to be waiting for a signal to take the drunkard into custody.
"Have you nothing to say, Hackelberg?" asked the pastor.
"What should I have to say, Herr Pastor?" he lisped, beginning to cringe again, and drawing the lappets of his tattered coat over his naked breast.
"Have you no accusation to make?"
"Let me go," he growled. "I haven't----"
"Not even againsthim?" and he pointed to Boleslav.
A glimmer of intelligence came into the dull, glazed eyes. He understood his cue. Old Merckel nodded at him encouragingly, and he began to play his favourite rôle. Floods of tears that the besotted inebriate can always command so easily, poured over his cheeks. He rubbed his wet face with his black hands, till it resembled some hideous mask.
"Poor fellow! poor outraged father!" crooned Herr Merckel, senior, wiping his own eyes.
"What is the meaning of this absurd farce?" asked Boleslav, with a scornful laugh. But his face had become visibly paler.
"Here we don't enact farces, but sit in judgment," answered the pastor.
Boleslav shrugged his shoulders. "I am pleased to hear it," he said, and there was a tremor in his voice.
The Schrandeners craned their necks to get a better view of the edifying scene, of which they now expected to be spectators. In the momentary calm that ensued, distant whoops and yells were heard from the crowds who filled the square, having stormed the inn in vain, and with the noise there seemed to mingle a woman's voice crying for succour.
What if it were Regina? But it was not possible that it could be she; and the idea vanished as quickly as it had flashed into his brain.
"My child, my poor wretched child!" howled the carpenter, who now found himself in more familiar waters.
"What have they done to your child, man?" asked the Landrath, who was not going to tolerate the conduct of affairs being taken out of his hands.
"My child was seduced--he ruined her--my fatherly heart is ... lacerated ... I am a poor beg--gar ... Only one coffin----"
"I fancy I have heard you harp on this string before," the Landrath interrupted him sharply, "at the time when I examined your daughter about the Cats' Bridge disaster. If you haven't learnt anything a little newer than that in five years, you'd better hold your tongue. It seems," he said, turning with a smile to the pastor, "as if this ruffian were bent on playing the part of Virginius."
The little man in grey laughed shrilly at this facetious sally on the part of his chief, and then was overcome with confusion at his own timerity. But the old pastor was less disposed to appreciate the Landrath's urbane humour.
"I will speak for you, Hackelberg," he said. "My words must be taken seriously. I will speak for you and for all of us in the name of our Heavenly Father, whose commandments were not made to be flouted and set at nought by aristocrats. Freiherr von Schranden, just now you challenged me to speak. Will you listen to what I am going to say?"
He assented impatiently. For the second time he fancied he heard that cry of distress rise above the hubbub outside.
"You have entered into the inheritance of your father?"
"Can there be any doubt in the matter?"
"God knows! None."
"What do you mean by that?"
"I mean you have only too quickly appropriated that which was his unlawful possession."
"Herr Pastor----" But he could not go on. He felt a choking sensation in his throat, and a stony horror creep over him.
"Where is your spirit?" he asked himself; "your boasted defiance?"
"You found a woman,Herr Baron, on your estate who had been your father's mistress. You found her degraded, defiled, dragged through the mire of wickedness and vice. Year-long slavery had robbed her of the respect of every living creature. She was treated as a mere animal by animals. This wretched woman belonged to my parish and to me. I reared her in the way she should go. It was my hand that sprinkled the baptismal water on her brow; my hand that held the chalice to her lips at the Holy Sacrament; and I promised and vowed before God, and in presence of my flock, to watch over this young soul; doubly orphaned, because he who generated her was not responsible for his actions."