So, whether they would or not, the two young men were compelled in the
end to put up as best they might with Linnet’s guidance and company. No
great hardship either, Will thought to himself, as Linnet, bare-headed,
but in her Sunday best, led the way up the green slopes behind the
village inn, with the bounding gait of a holiday alp-girl. As to
Florian, his soul was in the seventh heavens. To see that Oread’s light
foot trip gracefully over the lawns was to him pure joy—a stray breath
of Hellas. What Hellas was like, to be sure—the arid Hellas of
reality—with its dusty dry hills and its basking rocks, Florian had not
in his own soul the very faintest conception. But still, the Hellenic
ideal was none the less near and dear to him. From stray scraps of
Theocritus and his inner consciousness he had constructed for himself an
Arcadia of quite Alpine greenness, and had peopled it with lithe maidens
of uncircumscribed affections. So, whenever he wanted to give anything
in heaven or earth the highest praise in his power, he observed with an
innocent smile that it was utterly Hellenic.
Linnet led them on, talking unaffectedly as she went, by long ridge-like
spurs, up vague trails through the woods, and over spongy pastures. As
elsewhere on their walks, Florian noted here and there little
whitewashed shrines at every turn of the road, and endless rude
crucifixes where ghastly white limbs seemed to writhe and struggle in
realistic torture. Of a sudden, by one of these, Linnet dropped on her
knees—all at once without a word of warning; she dropped as if
mechanically, her lips moving meanwhile in muttered prayer. Florian
gazed at her curiously; Will stood by expectant, in a reverent and
mutely sympathetic attitude. For some minutes the girl knelt there,
murmuring low to herself. As she rose from her knees, she turned gravely
to Will. “Here my father has died,” she said, with solemn slowness in
her broken English. “He has slipped from that rock. The fall has killed
him. Will you say, for his soul’s repose, before you go, a
_Vaterunser_?”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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