The Witch of Prague Part 54

"And see them meet!"

She covered her face with her hands, and one short moan escaped her lips.

"May I not die?" she cried despairingly. "May I not die--for him--for her, for both? Would that not be enough? Would they not meet? Would they not then be free?"

"Do you love him still?"

"With all my broken heart----"

"Then do not leave his happiness to chance alone, but go at once. There is one little act of Heaven's work still in your power. Make it all yours."

His great hands rested on her shoulders and his eyes looked down to hers.

"Is it so bitter to do right?" he asked.

"It is very bitter," she answered.

Very slowly she turned, and as she moved he went beside her, gently urging her and seeming to support her. Slowly, through vestibule and pa.s.sage, they went on and entered together the great hall of the flowers. The Wanderer was there alone.

He uttered a short cry and sprang to meet her, but stepped back in awe of the great white-robed figure that towered by her side.

"Beatrice!" he cried, as they pa.s.sed.

"I am not Beatrice," she answered, her downcast eyes not raised to look at him, moving still forward under the gentle guidance of the giant's hand.

"Not Beatrice--no--you are not she--you are Unorna! Have I dreamed all this?"

She had pa.s.sed him now, and still she would not turn her head. But her voice came back to him as she walked on.

"You have dreamed what will very soon be true," she said. "Wait here, and Beatrice will soon be with you."

"I know that I am mad," the Wanderer cried, making one step to follow her, then stopping short. Unorna was already at the door. The ancient sleeper laid one hand upon her head.

"You will do it now," he said.

"I will do it--to the end," she answered. "Thank G.o.d that I have made you live to tell me how."

So she went out, alone, to undo what she had done so evilly well.

The old man turned and went towards the Wanderer, who stood still in the middle of the hall, confused, not knowing whether he had dreamed or was really mad.

"What man are you?" he asked, as the white-robed figure approached.

"A man, as you are, for I was once young--not as you are, for I am very old, and yet like you, for I am young again."

"You speak in riddles. What are you doing here, and where have you sent Unorna?"

"When I was old, in that long time between, she took me in, and I have slept beneath her roof these many years. She came to me to-day. She told me all her story and all yours, waking me from my sleep, and asking me what she should do. And she is gone to do that thing of which I told her. Wait and you will see. She loves you well."

"And you would help her to get my love, as she had tried to get it before?" the Wanderer asked with rising anger. "What am I to you, or you to me, that you would meddle in my life?"

"You to me? Nothing. A man."

"Therefore an enemy--and you would help Unorna--let me go! This home is cursed. I will not stay in it." The h.o.a.ry giant took his arm, and the Wanderer started at the weight and strength of the touch.

"You shall bless this house before you leave it. In this place, here where you stand, you shall find the happiness you have sought through all the years."

"In Unorna?" the question was asked scornfully.

"By Unorna."

"I do not believe you. You are mad, as I am. Would you play the prophet?"

The door opened in the distance, and from behind the screen of plants Keyork Arabian came forward into the hall, his small eyes bright, his ivory face set and expressionless, his long beard waving in the swing of his walk. The Wanderer saw him first and called to him.

"Keyork--come here!" he said. "Who is this man?"

For a moment Keyork seemed speechless with amazement. But it was anger that choked his words. Then he came on quickly.

"Who waked him?" he cried in fury. "What is this? Why is he here?"

"Unorna waked me," answered the ancient sleeper very calmly.

"Unorna? Again? The curse of The Three Black Angels on her! Mad again?

Sleep, go back! It is not ready yet, and you will die, and I shall lose it all--all--all! Oh, she shall pay for this with her soul in h.e.l.l!"

He threw himself upon the giant, in an insane frenzy, clasping his arms round the huge limbs and trying to force him backwards.

"Go! go!" he cried frantically. "It may not be too late! You may yet sleep and live! Oh, my Experiment, my great Experiment! All lost----"

"What is this madness?" asked the Wanderer. "You cannot carry him, and he will not go. Let him alone."

"Madness?" yelled Keyork, turning on him. "You are the madman, you the fool, who cannot understand! Help me to move him--you are strong and young--together we can take him back--he may yet sleep and live--he must and shall! I say it! Lay your hands on him--you will not help me? Then I will curse you till you do----"

"Poor Keyork!" exclaimed the Wanderer, half pitying him. "Your big thoughts have cracked your little brain at last."

"Poor Keyork? You call me poor Keyork? You boy! You puppet! You ball, that we have bandied to and fro, half sleeping, half awake! It drives me mad to see you standing there, scoffing instead of helping me!"

"You are past my help, I fear."

"Will you not move? Are you dead already, standing on your feet and staring at me?"

Again Keyork threw himself upon the huge old man, and stamped and struggled and tried to move him backwards. He might as well have spent his strength against a rock. Breathless but furious still, he desisted at last, too much beside himself to see that he whose sudden death he feared was stronger than he, because the great experiment had succeeded far beyond all hope.

"Unorna has done this!" he cried, beating his forehead in impotent rage.

"Unorna has ruined me, and all,--and everything--so she has paid me for my help! Trust a woman when she loves? Trust angels to curse G.o.d, or h.e.l.l to save a sinner! But she shall pay, too--I have her still. Why do you stare at me? Wait, fool! You shall be happy now. What are you to me that I should even hate you? You shall have what you want. I will bring you the woman you love, the Beatrice you have seen in dreams--and then Unorna's heart will break and she will die, and her soul--her soul----"

Keyork broke into a peal of laughter, deep, rolling, diabolical in its despairing, frantic mirth. He was still laughing as he reached the door.