Part 24 (1/2)

”One can kill with more things than with a sword. I found the face of my vision, I followed it step by step. I hunted it down with sighs and tears till at last it was mine. I held it one short moment in my arms, a moment within which I lived the ultimate triumph of my desire. Then it was gone. I myself destroyed it, consumed it, with the thirst of my soul!”

”But was she happy?” queried Radu, with tears in his eyes.

”Was she happy! Good G.o.d! was she happy!” cried Eric, clenching his fists towards the skies. ”Yes, I believe she was happy! If I did not believe that I could not live. She said to me to kiss her eyes so that for ever she could keep the picture of what she had loved best in this world! At that moment she died! My warm touch of love was death! Canst grasp that frightful truth?... was death! My lips, my lover's lips closed her eyes for ever!... for ever ... over the vision of my face!

”Before they laid her in the ground I wrapped her in my cloak; that is why it is gone. I would not leave her thus thinly clad within the cold shadow of her grave; and upon the spot where she lies I planted my sword. There, where the eyes I followed so far are for ever closed, I left my sword.”

”Oh,” sobbed Radu, ”and now I shall never see that face!”

”Yes, thou shalt,” answered his friend. ”Come with me and thou shalt see the fairest being G.o.d ever made!”

”Where?” asked the astonished peasant, ”where?”

”Follow me and thou shalt know!”

”But my sheep,--they are tired; and see how tame are my dogs, exhausted by the length of the way.”

”It is not far from here--there thou canst rest; thou art not in a hurry, and I would thou shouldst know the eyes of my dream.”

Again Eric hid his face in his clasped hands, whilst a harsh dry sob rose to his throat.

”Come, come! I, too, thirst for the sight of her face.”

Towards the evening the two lads arrived at the gypsies' camp.

Along the dreary roadside several tall wooden crosses had been erected, tall and gaunt, with curious shapes, decorated with archaic saints in crudest colours.

These weird crosses stood in a line like silent spectres, some bending sideways, as if tired of their vigil.

It was here that old Zorka had told Eric he would find their halting-place. The fires had already been lit, the dark men and women sat about in groups. The tents stood out, dismal shadows, against the Western Bar.

Eric holding Radu by the hand led him to where Zorka was cooking her evening meal in a blackened pot.

Radu's flock had followed pitter-patter in their wake, hardly discernible in the dusk, their way-stained wool the colour of the ground they trod.

When she saw her favourite the old seer ran forward and clasped him to her breast, anxiously scanning his haggard face, but saying never a word for fear of awakening his surging grief.

”Mother Zorka,” he said, ”here is a friend who has come to look upon her face!”

Zorka went to her tent, brought out the wonderful picture, and put it into the peasant's hands. He stared at it in enraptured silence. Then very slowly he laid it on the ground and knelt before it, making the sign of the cross over his brow, the tears flowing down his cheeks.

Zorka brought the boys food in a dish, urging her dear one to eat, but Eric shook his head.

”Mother Zorka, willst thou tend him and give him a bed? for he was good to me when I was in sore distress.”

Then taking the picture he went off alone in the darkness of the night.

The wind howled, and the rain came down in heavier showers, beating upon the miserable tents.