A Monk of Cruta

by E. Phillips Oppenheim

"Tell me! What can I do?"

He answered me quickly, keeping his back turned to the stream of people. "You must fly! It may be already too late, but in twenty-four hours you will certainly be arrested if you are in Florence. I have travelled night and day to find you. The holy saints grant that it may not be too late. Call yourself by a strange name; and if Paul de Vaux be with you, see that he alters his also. There are already two of the detectives in Florence searching for you. A third, with a warrant, may be here at any time. Get to the furthest corner of the world, for everything is known. Farewell!"

He left me abruptly; and although I felt that my doom had been spoken, I walked firmly across the square to meet Paul. I would tell him everything. He should be my judge. My love should plead for me! It would triumph; yes! it would triumph! I was convinced of it! As for the danger I was in, I thought less of that.

On the steps of the postoffice I met Paul. He held in his hand a bundle of papers, one of which he had opened, and, as he raised his head and looked at me, I saw that what I had dreaded had come to pass. He looked like a man stricken down by some sudden and terrible blow. He was white even to the lips, and a strange light burned in his eyes.

He laid his hand upon my arm. Was it my fancy, or did he really recoil a little as he touched me? "Let us go home!" he said hoarsely. "I have—something to say to you!"

We entered the carriage, which was waiting near, and drove off. We came together into this room. It was barely two hours ago. He closed the door and turned towards me. I did not wait for his question. I told him everything!

Ah me! I had thought that love was a different thing. I had sinned, it is true, but he was not my judge. So I commenced, humbled and sorrowful indeed, but with no fear of what was before me. But gradually, as I watched his face, a cold, ghastly dread crept in upon me. What did it mean—that blank look of horror, his quiet withdrawal from the only caress I attempted? I finished—abruptly—and called out to him piteously,—

"Paul! Paul! Why do you turn away? Oh! kiss me, Paul! It was horrible, but it was to save you!"

He did not answer; he did not hold out his arms, or make any movement towards me. I touched his arm; and oh! horrible! he shuddered. I crept away into a corner of the room, with a strange, burning pain in my heart.