Chapter 13

The night train steamed swiftly through the darkness, the cars swaying from side to side of the track, and the couplings clanging and jolting. It was warm inside the compartments and the air made a thick steam on the windows, hiding the snowfields and the station as the train rushed thundering past. In one of the third-class compartments two gypsies sat together with their heads close to the window, peering out.

"Half an hour now, Velasco."

"Twenty-two minutes, Kaya."

"Now, only twelve."

"Are the passports ready, Velasco?"

"They are here, little one. There is Virballen now in the distance; can you see the roofs and the eagle floating? In another moment, another second--!"

The two gypsies sat quiet, straining their eyes through the steam; then the dark one rose suddenly and adjusted the strap of his knapsack, taking his violin in his hand.

"The train is slowing up now, Kaya, come! Follow me close, and look neither to the right nor the left."

The two sprang from the train, and hurrying into the customs-room of the station were soon lost in the crowd. The minutes dragged slowly.

"Do you see that paling, Kaya? The other side of it is Germany--is freedom."

"I know, Velasco--I know!"

"Your heart is beating and throbbing, Kaya; your jacket tosses like a ship in a storm. Fold your arms over its fluttering, little one, that the guards may not see. They are coming now."

"Pray--Velasco!"

"To whom should I pray? The Tsar perhaps--or the Icon over yonder?" The gypsey laughed, holding out the passports. He was swaggering with his hands in his pockets, and when the official spoke to him, he shrugged his shoulders and answered in dialect.

"Bohemian!" he said, "Yes--gypsies! We earn our living on the road, my comrade and I--eh, Bradjaga?" With that, he clapped Kaya on the shoulder, showing his white teeth and laughing: "No baggage, Bárin, no--no, only this--and that!"

He pointed to the knapsack swung from his shoulder and the violin in his hand.

"What does this ragamuffin do?" demanded the official, looking narrowly at Kaya, "He is fair for a gypsey."

The girl started back for a moment, her shoulder brushing the shoulder of Velasco; then she lifted her blue eyes to the official, and her heart seemed to leap and bound like a wild thing caged. She began to stammer, shrinking back against her companion. A bell sounded suddenly in the office behind them and the official started:

"A telegraph despatch!" he said, "Ha--I must go!"

The girl sprang forward and clutched his sleeve: "Don't go!" she said, "You ask what I can do--I can dance! We will show you, my comrade and I. In a moment the doors will be unlocked; wait until the doors are unlocked! We will give you a performance now, a special performance such as the Tsar himself has heard and seen--Play!"

She waved Her hand to Velasco, and in a moment the violin was out of its wrappings and held to his cheek. He was playing a wild, strange rhythm and Kaya was dancing. The crowd made a circle about them, and the official stood in the centre transfixed, open-mouthed.

The violin was like a creature alive, it sobbed and laughed; and when it sobbed, the little figure of the dancer swayed slowly, languidly, like a flower blown to and fro by the breeze; and when it laughed, the rhythm quickened suddenly in a rush like an avalanche falling, and the figure sprang out into the air, turning, twisting, pirouetting; every movement graceful, intense, full of feeling and passion.

The crowd about the gypsies stood spell-bound; the official never stirred. The bell rang again and again. Every time it rang, a new impetus seemed to seize the dancer. Her feet in the heavy boots seemed scarcely to touch the ground; the green of the velveteen was like the colour of a kaleidoscope, and the gold of her curls glittered and sparkled under the cap. The crowd swayed with the rhythm; they grew drunk with it and their bodies quivered as they watched. The minutes passed like a flash.

Suddenly there came a creak in the lock; the key turned and the great doors opened, the doors towards Germany. Beyond was the long line of paling; the flag with the eagle floating; the sentinels with their muskets over their shoulders. A step and then--

The dancer made a little rush forward, gave a spring in the air and then bowed, snatching off the cap.

"Messieurs--Mesdames!"

She held the cap in her two hands, eagerly, pleadingly, and the silver fell into it. Copecks--ten--twenty--hundreds of them, and roubles, round and heavy; they clinked as they fell.

"I thank you!" cried the gypsey, "Good-bye, Messieurs--Mesdames! Au revoir!"

She bowed again, backing towards the door, the cap still held between her hands, the Violinist following.

"Adieu! Au revoir!"

The crowd clapped noisily, cheering until the great, bare station of the customs rang and re-echoed.

"Au revoir! Adieu!"

The gypsies backed together, smiling, bowing; they passed through the door. They reached the paling--the sentinels; the flag with the eagle floated over their heads; then a click, and the gate closed behind them.

They were on German soil. They were free--they were free.

"Kaya!" said Velasco.

The room at the inn was small and very still. The shades were down, and over in the corner, beyond the couch, a single candle was burning.

"Are you awake, Kaya?" said Velasco softly, bending over the couch until his curls brushed hers, and his lips were close to her rosy cheek.

"I have watched so long for your eyes to open, Kaya! My--wife."

The girl moved uneasily on the pillow.

"My wife--Kaya!"

He put his arms about her and she lay still for a moment, scarcely breathing. Then she spoke:

"I am not your wife, Velasco. Take your arms away."

"Your cheek is so soft, Kaya; the centre is like a red rose blushing. Let me rest my cheek against it."

"Take your cheek away--Velasco."

"Your lips are arched like a bow, so red, so sweet! When I press them--I press--them!"

"Velasco--Velasco! Take your lips--away!"

The girl half rose on her pillow, pushing him back; striking at him feebly with her bare hands; "Go--don't touch me! I have been asleep--I am mad! I am not your wife--Velasco! We must part at once--I tell you, we must part!"

Velasco laughed: "Part!" he said, "You and I, Kaya?--Part? Have you forgotten the church, the priest in his surplice, the dark nave and the candles? We knelt side by side. You are my wife and I am your husband. Kaya, we can never part in life or in death."

The girl put her hand to her breast: "It was only a 'Nihilistic marriage,' Velasco, you know what that means! A mere form for the sake of the certificate, the papers--just to show for the passport that we might go together." Her voice came through her throat roughly as if it hurt her.

Velasco laughed again shortly: "What is that to me?" he said, "We were married; you are my wife. Put your hands down, Kaya--let me take you in my arms. You know--throughout the journey, when we were tramping through the snow and the cold, I treated you as a comrade, for your sake. You asked it. You know--Kaya? And now--now we are in Germany; we are gypsies no longer. You are the Countess and I am Velasco--your husband, Kaya, your--husband."

He stretched out his arms to her, and his eyes were like sparks of light under his brows, gleaming. His hands trembled: "Look at me, Kaya, look at me. Why do you torment me?"

The girl thrust her hand slowly into the breast of her jacket and drew out a paper. "You lost it," she said, "in the prison. I found it on the floor. The--the certificate of our marriage. I swore that night--if we reached the frontier I would--Velasco, don't touch me!--I would destroy it!"

She held it away from him and her eyes gazed into his.

"You would never destroy it, Kaya!" He looked at her and then he gave a cry: "Stop--Kaya!"

She had torn the paper across into strips and was flinging the pieces from her; she was laughing. "You, my husband, Velasco? Are you mad? The daughter of General Mezkarpin marry a musician! Our family is one of the oldest in Russia and yours--!" She laughed again wildly, clasping her hands to her throat. "You are mad--Velasco!"

He looked at her steadily. "Tell me the truth," he said, "Do you love me, or do you not love me? Yes, or no."

"No, Velasco. You were kind to me--you saved my life; I am grateful. If it had not been for you--" Then she laughed again, staggering to her feet. "Love you? No--no! A thousand times--no!"

"That is a lie," said Velasco. "You are trembling all over like a leaf. Your cheeks are ashy. The tears are welling up in your eyes like a veil over the blue. You are breathless--you are sobbing."

He flung his arms around her and pressed her head to his breast, kissing the curls. "Lie still, Kaya, lie still in my arms! The gods only know why you said it, but it isn't the truth! You love me--say you love me! You said it in the sleigh when I was stunned, half conscious! Say it again--Kaya! The certificate is nothing. Does love need a certificate?" He laughed aloud. "Say it, Kaya--let me hear you, my beloved!"

She was silent, clinging to him; she had stopped struggling. Her eyes were closed and he kissed her fiercely on the lips again and again. Presently he was frightened, and a chill of terror and foreboding stole over him.

"Look at me, Kaya--open your eyes! Have I hurt you--was I too rough? Are you angry? I love you so! The whole world is nothing; art is nothing; fame is nothing. I would sell my Stradivarius for the touch of your fingers in mine, Kaya! I would give my soul for a look in your eyes! Ah, open them--dearest!"

His voice shook and was hoarse, and he held her away from him, gazing down at her face and the panting of her breast. "Tell me you love me--Kaya!"

Suddenly she stiffened until her body was straight and unbending as steel, and the strength came back to her slowly. She opened her eyes and the veil was gone; they were flashing and hard. "You use your strength like a coward, Velasco," she said. "Can you force love? I told you the truth."

She pointed to the fragments of paper on the floor with her finger, scornfully: "There lies the bond between us," she said, "See--it is shattered; it lies at our feet. You will go on your way from here alone, to fill your engagements, and I--" She hesitated and stopped again, as one who is afraid of stumbling.

Her arms stiffened, and her hands, and her whole body; and she drew away from him, avoiding his eyes, and looking only at the fragments of paper on the floor.

"Good-bye now--Velasco," she said.

He looked at her, and he was trembling and shaking from head to foot, like one in a chill. His teeth were clenched and his eyes were bloodshot; the pulses beat in his temples.

"My God!" he cried, "If it is true--if you don't love me! If--"

Kaya stretched out her hand to him, catching her breath. "Good-bye, Velasco--"

He turned on her fiercely, and raised his arm as if he would have struck her: "You are cruel!" he said, crying out, "You are not a woman!" He caught her by the shoulders and held her, looking down into her eyes, with his face close to hers.

"Swear it!" he cried, "Swear it if you can--if you dare! Swear you don't love--me."

She looked at him and her lips trembled.

"Swear it!"

She nodded.

A cry burst from his throat, like that of an animal, wounded, at bay. His blood-shot eyes stared at her for a moment, and then he flung her from him with all his strength and turning, dashed from the room.

The door slammed.

The girl reeled backward, putting her hands to her face. Then, as the echo of his footsteps died away on the stairs, she fell on her knees, crouching and sobbing.

"He is gone!" she cried out, the words coming in little moans through her clenched teeth. "He is gone! Velasco is gone!"

Her form shook in a torrent of weeping, and she took her hands from her face and wrung them together. "I love him!" she said, "I love him! If he had stayed! No--no, I am mad! I am cursed--cursed by the Black Cross. There is blood on my hands!"

She held them out before her, and they trembled and shook. "Blood!" she cried, "I see it--red--dripping! It fell from his wound on my hand and nothing will wash it away! Nothing!" Her voice died away to a whisper and she knelt, staring at her hands with eyes wild and dilated:

"Not even his love," she said, "not even his love could wash it away. It would spread--he too would be cursed. He--too!" Then she flung herself on the floor and buried her head against the side of the couch, clinging to it, with her body convulsed:

"Come back, Velasco!" she stammered, "I am weak--come back! Put your arms around me--kiss me again! Don't be angry. Don't look at me like that! Velasco--I won't leave you! I--I love you! Come back!"

She lay still, shuddering.

Outside, in the street, came the clatter of wheels passing and the cries of a street vendor; far off came the whistle of a locomotive. Kaya dragged herself to her feet slowly, stumbling a little. She passed her hands over her eyes once or twice, as if blinded; then feebly, like one who has just recovered from a long illness, she tottered towards the door and opened it.

Her head was bare and her curls covered it in a tangle of gold; her jacket and trousers were old and faded, patched at the elbows, torn at the knees. The tears had dried on her cheeks. She gazed ahead steadily without looking back; and the blue of her eyes was like the blue of the sky at night-fall, darkened and shadowy.

At the bend of the stairway she stumbled, half falling; then she steadied herself, clinging to the balustrade with her hands--and went on.

It was day-light, and the cocks were all crowing when Velasco returned. When he opened the door the candle burned low in its socket, and the sun-rays came filtering in through the windows. The room was deserted. He was muddy and footsore; his face looked haggard and old, and it was lined with deep furrows. His dark eyes were listless and weary, and his cheeks colourless.

"Kaya," he said, "are you here? Kaya!"

He looked on the couch, but it was empty; behind the curtains, but there was nothing; out of the windows, but there was only the street below. His eyes had a dazed look.

"Kaya!" he cried.

On the floor lay a boy's cap, torn, rakish, faded with the sun and the snow of their wanderings--a little, green cap. Velasco stared at it for a moment.

Then suddenly he snatched it to his lips with a sob, and buried his head in his arms.

THE BLACK CROSS