Regina, or the Sins of the Fathers Part 25

"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 c.h.i.n.ks, 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 s.h.i.+mmer 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 for _him_. 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 tr.i.m.m.i.n.g her Christmas tree when I got there at three o'clock, and I thought it so pretty I said to myself, _he_ shall 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 a.s.sented, 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 vivandiere."

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 gla.s.ses 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 Maenad.

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 fas.h.i.+on. "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-gla.s.s. 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 s.l.u.ts. They have had stones thrown at them, and been spat at, and men have called after them, 'Strike her down, the dirty s.l.u.t!' And all the time they were princesses in disguise."