"Everything all right again?" said Thoma; but her mother did not catch the questioning tone in which she spoke.
CHAPTER XXXIV.
Cushion-Kate had hurried through the village to the pastor's house near the church. She rang the bell violently. The pastor looked out, and asked, "Who is ringing? Have you come for me to take the sacrament to a dying person?"
"Pastor," shrieked Cushion-Kate, "tell me, is there a God in heaven? Is there justice?"
"Who are you that dare blaspheme so? All good spirits praise the Lord our God. Who are you?"
"The mother, the mother whose son was murdered; and the murderer is acquitted."
"Is it you, Cushion-Kate? Wait; I will open the door." The pastor opened it, but Cushion-Kate was no longer there. He went to the churchyard, to Vetturi's grave. There he found her red kerchief, but she had disappeared.
In mad haste, as though driven by invisible demons, Cushion-Kate ran through fields and forest, down to the river. There she stood, on a projecting rock, under which the water boiled and bubbled as though imprisoned. The whirlpool is called the "Devil's Kettle." Cushion-Kate leaned forward, and was about to throw herself in; but when her hands touched her head, and she became aware that her kerchief was missing, her self-control returned, and sitting down she said as she looked up to the sky:
"Mother, I feel it again. I, under your heart, and you, with a straw wreath round your head, and a straw girdle round your waist,--that was the world's justice to the poor unfortunate. Mother, you are now in the presence of eternal justice. Don't let Him turn you away! And Thou, on Thy throne in Heaven, answer me. Tell me, why is my son dead? Why hast Thou let the man that killed him go free, and live in happiness? Thou hast given me nothing in all the world; and I ask for nothing but that Thou shouldst punish him, and all those who acquitted him. Let no tree grow in their forest, nor corn in their fields. Torment them; or if Thou in Heaven above wilt not help me, then he, the other one, from below, shall! Yes, come from the water, come from the rocks; come, devil, and help me! Make a witch of me. I'll be a witch. Take my poor soul, but help me!"
A night-owl rose silently from out the darkness. Cushion-Kate beckoned to it, as though it were a messenger from him whom she had called. The owl flew past; a train of cars rushed by on the other side of the river. Cushion-Kate shrieked, but her cry was drowned in the clatter of the cars. She sank down--she slept. When the day awoke and shone in her face, she turned over with a groan, and slept on with her face to the ground.