"God's work! And you lend yourself to God's work! You could have died—anything, rather than be an instrument of wickedness in God's hands!"
Mrs. Tremaine breathed a great sigh of relief when she found herself safely on the outside of the Morley mansion. She sat for awhile on a bench in the Square, and when she had in part recovered her equanimity, she went slowly homeward, pondering over the difficulties which present themselves to those who try to do good in secret.
Yet she had done good; for when Natalie beheld this matron in all the pride and joy of approaching maternity, she saw in the spectacle a living denial of the frightful dogma which, if believed, must have turned the woman's triumph to despair. The orthodox lady served to demonstrate the fact that the upholders of hell do not believe in hell; for the conclusion to which Natalie had arrived was sound: The woman that believes in hell dare not bear a child.
Leonard's continuing absence afforded time for contemplation of this discovery and its consequences; among others the gradual conviction which subjected Leonard, with thousands of others, to the accusation of maintaining palpable falsehood as the living truth. No other conclusion was possible in the face of the fact that humanity can judge only by the aid of human faculties, and that these must, perforce, pronounce eternal punishment incompatible with justice, and preordination to everlasting misery as impossible to a God of mercy. Her training made it difficult for her to understand the palliation of the offense of those who maintained the paradoxes which denied their actions. She was not aware that the minds of such as Leonard had, from infancy, been receptacles into which had been emptied all the follies bred from the meditations of those who profess the mission of being interpreters of Omniscience; nor could she fairly estimate the partisan rage which carried such men, engaged in controversy, even beyond their convictions. She did, however, gather some comprehension of these extenuating forces from the further researches offered by Leonard's table, on which were strewn numerous pamphlets referring to the late theological war. The tone of rancor which pervaded the effusions of the religious antagonists was repellant, but she was shrewd enough to see in so much sound and fury evidences of weakness; and when she came to the theologian who lauded the "beautiful faith" of that Christian father who demolished his pagan adversary with the words, "I believe, because it is impossible," she closed the book, and thenceforth avoided further contemplation of the high mysteries of theology.
She could not but condemn Leonard, though she would not dwell upon the thought. To her, as to Dr. Stanley, belief in the impossible was impossible, and, therefore, pretense of such belief dishonest; yet, since these pretenders were not otherwise dishonest, there must be some ground for their attitude, which to her must remain a mystery, but which ought to cause her to hesitate in judging. So, she would not blame Leonard; she perceived now, that her own conduct merited reproach. She was ignorant of her own cruelty and her own absurdity, and would have resented those terms as applied to her attitude; but she acknowledged with sorrow that she had not been kind, and for her unkindness she craved forgiveness.
Very early one morning she started to walk to the cemetery, going by way of the shore, and glorying in the grandeur of the ocean and the breeze that came, health-laden, from its bosom. She stood and looked upon the broad expanse of blue, recalling the day when Leonard had plunged into the raging waters to rescue the boy. That effort had been in vain, as to its intended object, but had it never been made she would not be walking here a wife. She had loved him before, but not with a love that would have urged her to grant him the boon of kisses; but, fresh from that brave deed he was a hero, had taken the hero's meed from her lips, and in that act had sealed the mastery which his courage had won. She gazed long upon the waters, listening to the surge and noting the glint of the sun, tinting with rose the billows rolling toward her. She sighed and, pressing her lips together, turned her back upon the waves and hurried on. It was as though she had resolved not to see some fair vision suggested by the rose-tint in the feathery edging of the billows.
When she entered the beautiful cemetery the birds were chirping in the trees, only their joyous trills breaking the silence of the city of the dead. She sat down beside the grave of her boy.
And here, recalling her recent thoughts and her condemnation of others who were dishonest in their attitude toward God, she saw the need of honesty for herself in all things. If there were facts in her life which she had been willing to ignore, she must look them in the face and deal with them as best she might, being honest always. If, in marrying Leonard, she had striven to escape the longing for a love denied her, and in so doing had cheated her husband, she must admit her fault and resolve to make every reparation in her power. If she had chosen to believe that she had craved religion, and in her husband had seen its embodiment, while in truth she had craved an earthly love, and had in marriage weakly sought refuge from her shame, she must even admit her fault and do what might be in her power to avert its consequences. Not in the futile attempt to deny hearing to her conscience, to murder her reason, but in every wifely allegiance. Thus far she had wofully failed in such allegiance. Even before the last sad breach between her husband and herself she had allowed estrangement to come between them, and had so exclusively devoted herself to her child that Leonard had been secondary. It was true that she had not consciously intended this, but she had been willing that it be so. Her consciousness of wrong warmed her heart toward her absent husband, and filled it with longing to reconsecrate herself to him. He would surely come to-day! As she sped homeward she was more and more persuaded of it, and, finally, believed that on her arrival she would find him waiting for her. As she neared the house she trembled with expectation; she longed to clasp her arms about his neck and falter her prayer for pardon, and assure him of her love. There should be no shadows between them in future. She had dared to look truth in the face, and, lo! it was no longer truth. All the foolish, sinful longings of the past, persistent because she had refused to recognize them, had been dissipated by the light of day. The present moment was to live forever. Henceforth, Leonard, and only he, should dwell in her heart of hearts.
In her agitation she fumbled at the door-lock, then desisted, for from the hallway she heard the firm step of a man coming to the door. Her heart beat wildly; another moment and she would be forgiven.
The door was suddenly opened. With a glad cry Natalie spread wide her own, and in the same instant was clasped in the arms of Mark Claghorn.