I at once hardened my heart again. He was affirming his authority: and though he had certainly not abused it, there was for me only the sacred war for independence.
Mother, whose anxious shadow I had distinguished behind the window, was watching for our return, and came to the top of the steps to meet us.
“He was there,” said my father simply. “I was not mistaken.”
“Oh, my God!” she murmured, as if she could not have imagined so tragic a misfortune.
Aunt Deen, who was close behind her, lifted up her hands to heaven:
“It’s not possible! It’s not possible!”
Beyond this I was not scolded. With his will or against his will the prodigal son had been brought back. But, far from being grateful for this indulgence, which now I better understand as being due to the uncertainty of my parents as to the influences to which I had been subject, and the best way of winning me back, I tried to revive with all my recovered strength the love-pain which had been dulled by all these incidents, saying over and over to myself,
“Nazzarena is going to-morrow. Nazzarena is going to-morrow.”
V
THE DOUBLE LIFE
I HARDLY slept that night, and in my half slumber I confused the holy war for independence with my loss of Nazzarena. My love was a part of that liberty which grandfather vaunted, and for which he had carried a gun. When morning came it found me firmly resolved not to go to school, but to take my last chance of being present when the circus troop departed. The farewell of the evening before had been disappointing. Not being prepared, I had found nothing to say. Surely, things couldn’t end that way.