Once more the pleading voice ceased. Once more the ready tears rained down the beautiful white face. Surely this was no abandoned creature, Helen Rent thought. Surely John Charlock had much to answer for. No woman could be bad with a face like that. If Mrs. Rent could imagine a saint stepping aside from the path of grace, then was Kate Charlock in similar case. And, in common fairness, most of the blame must fall upon the shoulders of her own son. A wave of madness must have come over him, in which he had forgotten everything excepting the features of a woman and his wild desire to sacrifice the world for her sake. Other men, in most respects both great and good, had fallen in like manner. A score of them rose before Helen Rent's mental vision.
Yet she must be firm. She must keep her head throughout this ordeal. Her white lips moved rapidly in prayer for strength and endurance. Kate Charlock noted the flutter of those white lips, and her subtle instinct told her what was passing through the other woman's mind. As a child she had seen her mother at a crisis of her life praying in like fashion. The scene rose curiously before her mind. She could see it all as clear as if it had happened only yesterday.
"It seems to me that we are wasting time," Mrs. Rent said, presently. "I cannot ask you both to leave the house to-night, because that would be impossible, and there is nowhere else to go. But to-morrow will be different. I have made up my mind what I am going to do in your case."
"What is that, mother?" Arnold asked.
"That I will tell you when we are alone. It only concerns our two selves. If you will come with me——"
"No," Kate Charlock cried. "Let it be here and now. As for myself, I wish to be alone for a time in the open air."
Without waiting for remonstrance on the part of either, she crossed the drawing-room and threw back the windows. She stood there with her face turned up to the purple glory of the summer sky. She saw the golden pageant of the stars; the flower-laden breath of the evening was infinitely cool and refreshing. Here were the wide, trim lawns with their well-ordered flower-beds. Here was the noble sweep of the stone terrace, and beyond it the dim vista of the park, with the trees floating in a mist like ships on a peaceful sea.
And all this was likely to be hers if she had but the skill and patience to play for it. There was no regret in her heart for John Charlock. He had gone his own way. He had left her free to choose her own path. And there was always the chance of renewing the battle again on the morrow.
There were many cards to play, too, and if the worst came to the worst, Kate Charlock would play the great card of self-renunciation. She would offer Arnold back to his mother. She would go out into the world alone, hopeless and penniless, to work out her own salvation. Not in vain had she been studying Helen Rent's features, under the long fringe of her eyelashes.
"I wonder how he will manage it?" she murmured to herself. "I can stand here and listen, and if my presence becomes necessary, well, then, I shall be at hand."