The Black Cross

by Olive M. Briggs

"For you."

"Why should I look, Velasco—why should I listen? My heart is breaking. I cannot bear it—Velasco!"

"Lean on my shoulder; look again, Kaya, put your eyes to the hole. Do you see a loggia above to the left, full of people standing, and in front some one tall and in uniform?"

"No, Velasco—I see nothing!"

"It is the tears in your eyes, Kaya! Brush them away and look once again. Don't you see him—in uniform, tall with a beaked nose, a grey mustache and his eyes crossed?"

"His eyes crossed—Velasco! Are you mad? He is dead! I tell you, Velasco, he is—dead! The Grand-Duke Stepan!—I killed him!"

"He is not dead."

"The Grand-Duke Ste—"

"He is not dead. He lives and he stands there before you—clapping and shouting your name."

She gazed up at him with trembling lips: "There is no curse, Velasco—he lives? There is—no curse—no stain on my hands? Am I mad? No curse of the Cross—the Black Cross?"