The Duchess had noticed his absence, without making any inquiries about him. He went up to his tower, and seized a parchment, as if he would read. It happened to be Gunzo's libel. "Willingly I would ask you, to try the effect of healing medicine, but I fear that his illness is too deeply rooted," was what he read. He laughed. The arched ceiling threw back an echo, which made him jump up, as if he wanted to find out who had laughed at him. Then, he stepped up to the window, and looked down into the depth below. It was deep, far deeper than he had imagined, and overcome by a sudden giddiness, he started back.
His eye now fell on the small phial which the old Thieto had given him. With a painful recollection he thought of the blind old man! "Serving women is an evil thing for him, who wishes to remain in the paths of virtue," he had said when Ekkehard took leave.
He tore the seal off and poured the water from the Jordan over his head and eyes. It was too late. Whole floods of holy water will not extinguish the inward fire, unless one dives down, never to rise again to the surface. Yet a momentary feeling of quiet came over him.
"I will pray to be delivered from temptation," said he. He threw himself on his knees, but after a while he fancied that he heard the pigeons swarming round his head, as they did on the day when he first entered his chamber. Only they had mocking faces now, and had a contemptuous look about their beaks.
He got up, and slowly descended the winding staircase to the castle-chapel. The altar, which had often witnessed his former earnest devotions, was a safer place for him, he thought. The chapel was as it had always been, dark and silent. Six ponderous pillars with square capitals adorned with leaf-work, supported the vault. A faint streak of daylight fell in through the narrow window. The depth of the niche in which the altar was placed, was but faintly illuminated; the golden background of the mosaic picture of the Redeemer alone shone with a soft glitter. Greek artists had transplanted the forms of their church ornaments to the German rock. In white flowing garments, with a golden red aureole round his head, the Saviour's lean figure stood there, with the fingers of the right hand extended in the act of blessing.
Ekkehard knelt before the altar-steps; his forehead resting on the cold stone flags. Thus he remained, wrapt in prayer. "Oh thou, that hast taken the sins and sufferings of the whole world on thyself, send out one ray of thy grace on me, unworthy object." He looked up with a fixed stare as if he expected the earnest figure to step down, and hold out his hand to him.
"I am here at thy feet, like Peter, surrounded by tempest, and the waves will not bear me up! Save me, oh Lord! save me as thou didst him, when thou walkedst over the raging billows, extending thy hand to him and saying 'oh, thou of little faith, wherefore dost thou doubt?'"
But no such sign was given him.
Ekkehard's brain was giving way.
A rustling, like that of a woman's garments, now became audible, but Ekkehard did not hear it.