The Black Cross Part 8

"I have not promised myself, reverend Father."

Then he felt the hand of the priest, pressing the crown down on his forehead; it weighed on his brow, and when he tried to shake it off he could not.

"The servant of G.o.d, Velasco, is crowned unto the hand-maid of G.o.d, Kaya. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen."

"The servant of G.o.d, Kaya, is crowned unto the servant of G.o.d, Velasco.

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.

Amen."

"O Lord our G.o.d, crown them with glory and honour.

"O Lord our G.o.d, crown them with glory and honour.

"O Lord our G.o.d, crown them with glory and honour!"

Velasco pa.s.sed his hand over his face; he was breathing heavily. The crown glittered in the darkness.

"And so may the Father and the Son, and the Holy Spirit, the all-holy, consubstantial and life-giving Trinity, one G.o.d-head, and one Kingdom, bless you, and grant you length of days, . . . prosperity of life and faith: and fill you with all abundance of earthly good things, and make you worthy to obtain the blessings of the promise: through the prayers of the holy Birth-giver of G.o.d, and of all the saints. Amen."

"Glory to the Father and to the Son and to the Holy Spirit now, and ever, and unto ages and ages."

"Amen."

The chanting ceased suddenly, and there was silence. Then he felt something falling against him, and he staggered to his feet, dragging the girl up with him. She trembled and shook, pus.h.i.+ng him back with her hands; her eyes were full of terror, staring up into his, the eyes of her husband. Again everything grew misty and swayed.

He was signing a paper; how his fingers quivered; he could scarcely hold the pen! The priest drew nearer, and the two cloaked figures.

They all signed; and then he felt the paper crackling in the bosom of his coat, where he had thrust it. They were hurrying back through the dark, ghostly nave.

They were running, and the sound of their footsteps seemed louder and noisier than before; they ran side by side, through the door in the wall, the cloisters, the arch, bowing their heads; and there was the carriage, a great blot of whiteness, the horses like spectres. The snow came whirling through the air in sharp, icy flakes, cutting the skin. The wind grew fiercer, more violent.

With a last desperate effort Velasco dashed forward, pursuing the veil, the fluttering cloak--and the door of the carriage closed behind them.

In that moment, as it closed, the horses leaped together, as twin bullets from the mouth of a cannon; galloping, lashed and terrified through the night. It was still inside the kareta.

Suddenly Velasco was conscious of a voice at his elbow, whispering to him out of the silence: "Thank you, Monsieur, ah, I thank you! We shall be at the station directly; then a few hours more and it will be--over! You will never see--me--again! I thank you--I thank you with all my heart."

The voice was soft and low, like a violin when the mute is on the strings. He could scarcely hear it for the lurching of the carriage.

The horses gave a final plunge forward, and then fell back suddenly, reined in by an iron hand, and the kareta came to a standstill.

The station was all light and confusion; porters were rus.h.i.+ng about, truckmen and officials, workmen carrying coloured lanterns. "Not a second to spare!" cried Velasco, "Send the trunks after me, Bobo--Here--my valise!"

He s.n.a.t.c.hed up his violin-case, and the slim, dark-veiled figure darted beside him. "If we miss it!" he heard her crying in his ear, "I shall never forgive myself! I shall--never--forgive myself!"

"We shan't miss it!" cried Velasco, "I have the tickets, the pa.s.sports for you and for me! Here--to the left! The doors are still open!"

An official rushed forward and took the valise from Velasco's hand: "Here, sir--here! First cla.s.s compartment!"

Velasco nodded breathlessly, and the two sank down on the crimson cus.h.i.+ons; the door slammed. "Ye G.o.ds!" They were alone in the compartment; they were saved! Velasco gave a little laugh of triumph.

He was hugging his violin close in his arms, and opposite him sat the slim veiled figure. She was looking at him from behind the veil--and she was his wife. "Ye G.o.ds!" he laughed again.

"Why are you trembling?" he said, "We are safe now. I told you I had the pa.s.sports. Are you cold, or afraid?--You shake like a leaf!"

The girl put out her hand, touching his. "Did you see?" she breathed, "There--on the platform--Boris, the Chief of the Third Section!--He was watching!"

Velasco laughed again aloud, happily, like a boy: "What of it? Let him watch! Put up your veil, Kaya. Great heavens, what a night it has been! My heart is going still like a hammer--is yours? Lean back on the cus.h.i.+ons--put up your veil. Let me see you once,--let me see you!

Look at me as you did in the Theatre--Kaya! Don't tremble."

"He is there," breathed the girl, "I see him behind the curtain! He is talking to the official--The train is late and it doesn't start. Why doesn't it start?"

She gave a little moan and peered out through the veil: "Something has happened, Monsieur! The officials are cl.u.s.tered together, talking--there is some excitement! They are gesticulating and several are pointing to the train! What is it--what is it?"

Velasco laughed again; but the laugh died in his throat. The two turned and gazed at one another with wide, frightened eyes.

"The Chief of the Third Section--see! He is going from compartment to compartment--He is looking at the pa.s.sports! He is coming here--here!"

CHAPTER VI

"Your pa.s.sports, Monsieur--Madame?"

Velasco thrust his hand slowly into the breast pocket of his coat and drew out the precious papers. His manner was cold and indifferent, and his eyes had narrowed into sleepy slits again beneath the heaviness of his brows.

Kaya was leaning back on the cus.h.i.+ons with the veil drawn closely over her face. She was tapping the panels of the door with a dainty, nervous foot. Neither glanced at the official.

The Chief of the Third Section was in evening dress with a fur cloak thrown hastily over his shoulders. He would have pa.s.sed for an ordinary citizen on his way to a ball if it had not been for the strangeness of such an attire in a railway station, and the cl.u.s.ter of anxious, humble officials bowing and gesticulating about him. The Chief examined the pa.s.sports closely and at some length; then he tossed an order over his shoulder in a quick, sharp tone to the group of officials, and one hurried away.

"This lady, Monsieur, she is your wife?"

The voice of the Chief, as he turned to Velasco, was like the pa.s.sing of a brush over wool. The Violinist shuddered.

"Certainly sir, she is my wife," he returned curtly. "It is so stated on the paper, I believe."

"It is," said the Chief, "The writing is plain, quite clear. Will you be good enough to raise your veil, Madame?"

Kaya shrank back. "My veil!" she stammered. She half rose from her seat, supporting herself, with her hands pressed down on the cus.h.i.+ons, gazing up at the waiting official. "No--my veil!--What do you mean?"

"I am sorry to trouble you," said the Chief sharply, "but I said: 'your veil.' Kindly raise it at once. Ha!--Why shouldn't you show your face, Madame?"

His burly form filled the doorway and the white of his s.h.i.+rt front, half screened by the fur, gleamed under the electric light. He seemed enormous.

Velasco's brows lifted suddenly until his eyes were wide open and blazing: "Stand back, you impudent scoundrel!" he cried, "Stand away from my wife! How dare you?"

"Come!" said the Chief. His voice was still sharper. "No nonsense, Monsieur. The veil must be raised and immediately; you are keeping the whole train back. What do you suppose I am here for?" There was menace in his tone as he took a step forward. "Now, Madame, will you raise it, or shall I?"