This eBook was produced by David Widger <widger@cecomet.net>
[NOTE: There is a short list of bookmarks, or pointers, at the end of thefile for those who may wish to sample the author's ideas before making anentire meal of them. D.W.]
By Georg Ebers
During all these hours Orion had been in the solitude of his own rooms.Next to them was little Mary's sleeping-room; he had not seen the childagain since leaving his father's death-bed. He knew that she was lyingthere in a very feverish state, but he could not so far command himselfas to enquire for her. When, now and again, he could not help thinkingof her, he involuntarily clenched his fists. His soul was shaken to thefoundations; desperate, beside himself, incapable of any thought but thathe was the most miserable man on earth—that his father's curse hadblighted him—that nothing could undo what had happened—that some crueland inexorable power had turned his truest friend into a foe and hadsundered them so completely that there was no possibility of atonement orof moving him to a word of pardon or a kindly glance—he paced the longroom from end to end, flinging himself on his knees at intervals beforethe divan, and burying his burning face in the soft pillows. From timeto time he could pray, but each time he broke off; for what Power inHeaven or on earth could unseal those closed eyes and stir that heart tobeat again, that tongue to speak—could vouchsafe to him, the outcast,the one thing for which his soul thirsted and without which he thought hemust die: Pardon, pardon, his father's pardon! Now and then he struckhis forehead and heart like a man demented, with cries of anguish, cursesand lamentations.
About midnight—it was but just twelve hours since that fearful scene,and to him it seemed like as many days—he threw himself on the couch,dressed as he was in the dark mourning garments, which he had half tornoff in his rage and despair, and broke out into such loud groans that hehimself was almost frightened in the silence of the night. Full of self-pity and horror at his own deep grief, he turned his face to the wall toscreen his eyes from the clear, full moon, which only showed him thingshe did not want to see, while it hurt him.
His torture was beginning to be quite unbearable; he fancied his soul wasactually wounded, riven, and torn; it had even occurred to him to seizehis sharpest sword and throw himself upon it like Ajax in his fury—andlike Cato—and so put a sudden end to this intolerable and overwhelmingmisery.
He started up for—surely it was no illusion, no mistake-the door of hisroom was softly opened and a white figure came in with noiseless, ghostlysteps. He was a brave man, but his blood ran cold; however, in a momenthe recognized his nocturnal visitor as little Mary. She came across themoonlight without speaking, but he exclaimed in a sharp tone:
"What is the meaning of this? What do you want?"
The child started and stood still in alarm, stretching out imploringhands and whispering timidly:
"I heard you lamenting. Poor, poor Orion! And it was I who brought itall on you, and so I could not stay in bed any longer—I must—I couldnot help…." But she could say no more for sobs. Orion exclaimed:
"Very well, very well: go back to your own room and sleep. I will trynot to groan so loud."
He ended his speech in a less rough tone, for he observed that the childhad come to see him, though she was ill, with bare feet and onl