The Black Cross

by Olive M. Briggs

Already she was stumbling into his arms; she was clinging to him—and then she awoke. Her brain cleared suddenly and she knew that she had not moved; no sound had come from her lips. She was standing like a statue, dumb, with her hands clasped, gazing; and Velasco lay back in his chair with his eyes half closed, blowing a wreath from his cigar, watching it idly as it floated away, listening as the harsh voice of his host talked on—not five feet away! If she stretched out her hand, if she sighed—or moved the curtain—Ah!

She struggled with herself. She was faint; she was weak with hunger; she was alone and desolate—and he loved her. She fought madly, desperately. It was as if two creatures were within her fighting for life; and they both loved him.

When the one grew stronger, her eyes brightened and her pulses quickened; it was as if she would leap through the curtain, and her heart was sick for the touch of his hand. Then she beat down the longing and stifled it, and the other self came to the front and gripped her scornfully, pointing to her hands with the blood on them, her soul with its curse. Was her life to mingle with his and ruin it, and bring it to shame?

"Never," she breathed, "Never! So long as I live!" And the self of her that loved him the most crushed the other self and smothered it—strangled it.

She gazed at him through the curtain, and it seemed to her that something within her was gasping and dying. And suddenly she turned and ran from the curtain, clasping her cloak to her bosom and running, stumbling, out of the room, the house, the street.

The promenades were gay with people and crowded. The men strutting along in their Sunday clothes, the women hanging on their arms, the children toddling behind. The band was playing on the square. It was warm and the sun was shining; the air was sweet with the scent of the rose buds.

Kaya fled past them all like a wraith. They turned and stared after her, but she was gone. She climbed the stairs of the mill to the roof, and opened the door, and shut it again, and fell on her knees before the box. The pitcher was there without a handle, and the basin cracked. She lifted them away and opened the box.

In it lay a velveteen jacket folded, a scarf, scarlet and spotted. Inside the scarf lay a mass of coins, copecks, ten, twenty—hundreds of them, and roubles round and heavy. She fingered them tenderly, one after the other, then thrust them aside.

"To-morrow—" she said, "I have come to that—to live on a gypsey's wages! I can sing no longer; I can only dance and pass the cap—and give the copecks for bread—for bread! I thought some day when I was old,—when we were both old, I would show them to—Velasco, and he would remember and laugh: 'Ah, that was long ago,' he would say, 'when I was a boy, and you were a boy, and we tramped together through the cold and the snow—and I loved you, and you—loved me! Ah—it was sweet, Kaya! I have lived a long life since then, with plenty of fame, and success, and happiness—and the years have been full; but nothing quite so sweet as that! Nothing—quite so sweet—as that!'"

She was sobbing now and staring into the box: "To-morrow," she said, "I will buy some bread and feed the doves—and soon it will be gone!" She began to count the coins rapidly, dropping them through her fingers into the scarf; and as she counted she smiled through her tears.