Timar walked silently beside Noemi; the girl"s hand rested in his; suddenly she stood still. Michael did so too, and looked in her eyes.
"You want to ask me something?" he said. The girl thought awhile, then she said, "No; nothing." Timar had learned to read her eyes; he guessed her thoughts. Noemi wanted to ask him, "Tell me, my beloved, my all; what has become of the white-faced girl who once came with you to the island, and was called Timea?"
But she said nothing, only walked on silently with his hand in hers.
Michael"s heart was heavy when they said good-bye. When Noemi gave him his gun she whispered to him, "Take care of yourself, that no harm may come to you;" and when she pressed his hand, she looked at him once more with those heavenly blue and soulful eyes, and said, with a voice of entreaty, "You will return?"
Michael was fascinated by the entreating voice. He pressed the child to him and murmured--"Why don"t you say "Wilt not _thou_ return?" Why am I never to hear _thou_?"
The girl cast down her eyes and gently shook her head. "Do say "thou,""
he begged once more. She hid her face on Michael"s breast, but would not do his will.
"So you can not, or will not, call me "thou?"--one single word--are you afraid?" The maiden covered her face with both hands, and was silent.
"Noemi, I beg of thee say that one little word and make me happy. Do not let me go without it."
But she shook her head silently and could not utter it.
"Then farewell to you, dear Noemi," faltered Michael, and sprung into his boat. The rushes of the marsh soon hid the island from his gaze. But as long as he could distinguish its woods, he still saw the girl leaning on an acacia-tree, sadly gazing out with her head on her hand; but she did not call after him the desired word.
CHAPTER VI.
THE TROPIC OF CAPRICORN.
After Michael had rowed across to the other side, he gave over the boat to a fisherman to keep till he came back. But would he ever come back?
He wished to go on foot as far as the wharf, where Fabula was busy with the lading of his ships. It is hard work to row against the stream, and in Timar"s present frame of mind he was in no mood for muscular exertion; there was in his heart a stronger current, to contend against which he needed all his strength.
The district through which he had to pa.s.s was a widespread alluvial deposit of the Danube, like those found in the lower reaches of the river. The capricious stream has burst some dam, and altered its course.
Every year it tears portions from one bank and carries them over to the other. On this deposit the trees uprooted with it form a new growth, and through this dark natural forest wind lonely paths--the roads of the osier-cutters and fisher-folk. Here and there you come to a forsaken hut with a shingle roof whose walls are covered with creepers. These sometimes shelter a snipe-shooter, conceal a robber, or form the lair of a wolf and her cubs.
Michael, deep in thought, strode silently on through this desert: he had thrown his gun over his shoulder.
"You can never return here," said Timar to himself. "If it is difficult to carry through one lie with consistency, how can you manage two?--two contradictory lies? If you accept Noemi"s love, you will be inseparably bound to her, and must live henceforth two lives, both full of deceit.
. . . You are no boy, to be pa.s.sion"s tool, and perhaps it is not pa.s.sion which you feel, possibly merely a pa.s.sing desire or only gratified vanity.
"Then the rejected bridegroom--how is he to be got rid of? He would kill you, or you him--a delightful relationship indeed to end on the scaffold!"
He took off his hat and wiped the sweat from his brow; it soothed his burning temples to let the breeze fan them.
"Am I never to be happy?" he sighed. "All these years I have worked early and late for other people; why should I be so wretched? I adored my wife, and her coldness has brought me to despair; but Noemi loves me.
That can no longer be altered, and in the island, outside the world, the laws of society and religion have no power. . . . I could easily pay off that fellow who comes between us, and then I could live here in peace for half the year. Timea would only suppose that I was away on business."
The wind of spring rustled through the young poplar stems. Here, where the path turned, stood a hut made of interwoven osier-twigs, whose entrance was concealed by brambles. Timar stood still and put on his hat. At that moment two shots rattled close to him, the two b.a.l.l.s whistling over his head with that unpleasant sound which resembles the buzz of an approaching wasp or the clang of an aeolian harp. Michael"s hat, pierced by two b.a.l.l.s, flew from his head into the bushes. Both shots came from the ruined hut. For the first instant the shock paralyzed his limbs; they came like two answers to his secret thoughts.
A shudder ran through his whole body: the next moment rising fury took the place of fear; he lowered his gun, c.o.c.ked both barrels, and rushed angrily toward the hut, from which the smoke of the discharged weapon poured through the crevices.
Before the muzzle of his gun stood a trembling man--Theodor Krisstyan.
His discharged pistol was still in his hand, he held it now as a protection to his head, and shook so that every limb quivered.
"It is you--you!" cried Michael.
"Mercy!" stammered the trembling wretch, throwing away his pistol, and stretching both hands entreatingly to Michael: his knees knocked together, and he could hardly keep his feet; his face was pale as death, his eyes dull, he was more dead than alive. Timar recovered his composure: fear and anger had left him--he lowered his gun. "Come nearer," he said to the a.s.sa.s.sin.
"I dare not," faltered he, clinging to the wood-work. "You will kill me."
"Don"t be afraid; I don"t want your life. There"--he discharged his gun in the air--"now I am unarmed, and you have no cause to fear." Theodor crept out. "You wanted to kill me," said Michael. "You wretched creature! I pity you!"
The young rascal dared not look at him.
"Theodor Krisstyan, so young, and already a murderer!--but you could not do it. Examine yourself; you are not naturally bad, but your soul has been envenomed: I know your history, and I make excuses. You have good capacities, and use them badly--you are a vagabond and a swindler; does such a life content you? Impossible!--begin afresh--shall I help you to a post in which you can, with your education, honestly support yourself?
I have many connections: it is in my power: there is my hand on it."
The murderer fell on his knees before the man he would have killed, seized the offered hand with both his own, and covered it, sobbing, with kisses.
"Oh, sir, you are the first man who has ever spoken thus to me; let me kneel at your feet! From boyhood I have been chased from every door like a dog without a master; I had to steal or beg every morsel I eat; no one gave me a hand but those who were worse than myself, and who led me further astray. I have led a shameful, miserable life, full of deceit and treachery, and I tremble before any one who knows me; and you hold out a hand to me--you, for whom I have been lying in wait like a brigand, you will save me from myself! Let me kneel before you, and thus receive your commands!"
"Stand up! I am no friend to sentiment; tears make me suspicious."
"You are right," said Theodor, "and especially with such a well-known actor as I am, who if you say to him "Take that groschen and cry," could at once break into floods of tears. Now people don"t believe me if I really weep; I will suppress my tears."
"All the more because I do not intend to address a moral lecture to you, but only to speak of very dry business matters. You spoke of your connection with Scaramelli, and a business journey to Brazil."
"All lies, sir."
"So I thought. You have no connection with Scaramelli?"
"I had, but it was broken off."
"Did you run away, or were you dismissed?"
"The former."
"With trust-money?"
"With three or four hundred gulden."
"Say five hundred. Would you not be glad to return them to the firm? I have relations with their house."
"I do not want to remain there."
"And what connection has this with the Brazilian journey?"
"There is not a word of truth in it; no ship-wood comes from there."
"Not even those you mentioned, among which were dye and chemical woods?"