“No!”
The words had been explosive. Then Larry had caught the child roughly, and Noreen had struck him!
Maddened and keen to the fact that he had been brought to bay, Larry had struck back, and for days the mark of his hand had lain across the delicate cheek. After that, when their wills clashed, Noreen, her eyes full of fear and hate, would raise her hand to her cheek––weighing the cost of rebellion. That gesture had become a driving force in Mary-Clare’s life. She must overcome that which lay like a hideous menace between Larry and Noreen! She was accountable for it; out of her loveless existence Noreen had birth––she was a living evidence of the wrong done.
Looking back now, Mary-Clare realized that on the day 40 when Larry struck Noreen he had struck the scales from her eyes. From that hour she had bunglingly, gropingly, felt her way along. The only fact that upheld her now was that she knew she must take her first lonely step, even if all her little unknowing, unthinking world dropped from her.
Again the squirrel darted across the floor and Mary-Clare looked after it lingeringly. Even the little wild thing was company for her in her hard hour. Then she looked up at the face of Father Damien. It was but a face––the meaning of what had gone into its making Mary-Clare could not understand––but it brought comfort and encouragement.
The reaction had set in. Worn-out nerves became non-resistant; they ceased to ache. Then it was that Noreen’s shrill voice broke the calm:
“Motherly, Motherly, he’s come: he’s come home!”
Mary-Clare rose stiffly; her hands were spread wide as if to balance her on that dangerous, adventurous trail that lay between her past and the hidden future. There lay the trail: within her soul was a sense of truth and she had strength and courage for the first step. That was all.
“I’m coming, Noreen. I’m coming!” And Mary-Clare staggered on.