aya dragged herself to her feet slowly, stumbling a little. She
passed her hands over her eyes once or twice, as if blinded; then
feebly, like one who has just recovered from a long illness, she
tottered towards the door and opened it.

Her head was bare and her curls covered it in a tangle of gold; her
jacket and trousers were old and faded, patched at the elbows, torn at
the knees. The tears had dried on her cheeks. She gazed ahead
steadily without looking back; and the blue of her eyes was like the
blue of the sky at night-fall, darkened and shadowy.

At the bend of the stairway she stumbled, half falling; then she
steadied herself, clinging to the balustrade with her hands--and went
on.

It was day-light, and the cocks were all crowing when Velasco returned.
When he opened the door the candle burned low in its socket, and the
sun-rays came filtering in through the windows. The room was deserted.
He was muddy and footsore; his face looked haggard and old, and it was
lined with deep furrows. His dark eyes were listless and weary, and
his cheeks colourless.

"Kaya," he said, "are you here? Kaya!"

He looked on the couch, but it was empty; behind the curtains, but
there was nothing; out of the windows, but there was only the street
below. His eyes had a dazed look.

"Kaya!" he cried.

On the floor lay a boy's cap, torn, rakish, faded with the sun and the
snow of their wanderings--a little, green cap. Velasco stared at it
for a moment.

Then suddenly he snatched it to his lips with a sob, and buried his
head in his arms.

THE BLACK CROSS

PART II

CHAPTER XIV

Ehrestadt lies in a plain.

The walls of the old city have been leveled into broad promenades,
shaded with nut-trees, encircling the town as with a girdle of green.
Beyond, a new city has sprung up, spreading like a mushroom; but within
the girdle the streets are narrow and crooked, and the houses gabled;
leaning to one another as if seeking support for their ancient
foundations, with only a line of sky in between.

At the corner of the promenade, just where the old city and the new
city meet, is a tumble-down mill. It is called the Nonnen-Muehle, and
it has been there ever since Ehrestadt first came into existence, as is
evident from the bulging of the walls, and the wood of the casements,
rotten and worm-eaten. The river winds underneath it, and the great
spoked wheel turns slowly, tossing the water into a cloud of yellow