Krylenko’s hands and arms became unaccountably gentle. His cheek brushed against her white forehead with a comforting, caressing motion. And presently he lifted her as easily and as gently as he had lifted the wounded striker at Mrs. Tolliver’s command, and bore her from the room and down the dark corridor. She lay quietly, still sobbing in the same heartbroken fashion.
Thus he carried her into the long drawing-room and placed her among the brocade cushions of the divan, her amber hair all disheveled, her eyes bright with tears. For a moment he stood by her side awkwardly, silent and incoherent, overwhelmed by some new and profound emotion. The fire of cannel coal had died down. In the grate there was nothing now but ashes. Silently he knelt beside the sofa and rested his blond head on her breasts. Neither of them spoke a word, but Lily’s hand returned once more to the old gentle caressing motion across his tired eyes.
The minutes slipped away, one by one in a quick stream as if they were no more than the trickle of a clear spring water which is beyond all peril of drought, as if time itself were nothing and eternity even less.
So engulfed were they by the mood that even the sound of a key turning distantly in a clumsy lock and the echo of a light footfall in the hallway failed to disturb them. They were, it seemed oblivious to everything until suddenly there stepped through the doorway the thin figure of Irene in the worn gray suit and battered black hat. At the sight of them she halted, an apparition with a tired white face, drawn and quivering. It was not until she gave a low convulsive cry that Lily and Krylenko discovered she was watching them. Krylenko remained on his knees, only straightening his body to look at her. Lily turned her head a little, gently, listlessly, almost with indifference.
Irene had become hideous. In her eyes was the light of fury. When she spoke her voice was cold with an insane, unearthly hatred.
“So,” she said bitterly, “it has happened!” The worn hat fell from her grasp. Her fingers intertwined with a strangling gesture. “I might have known it.... I should have guessed....” And then her voice rose to a suppressed scream. “You are no better than a street walker! You are damned forever! I have prayed.... I have prayed but God himself could not save you.... He would not want you ... a vile creature ... a strumpet!... to destroy all that I have spent my life to create.” She began to sob wildly. “To destroy in a night what cost me years.”
Slowly, silently, Krylenko rose to his feet. He watched Irene with a look of bewilderment, as if he found himself in a wild nightmare. Lily turned away silently and buried her face in the pillows. A Fury had descended upon them unawares.
Irene continued to cry. “I have known always.... I have known from the beginning.... I knew about the Governor.... I saw him go into your room.... Only God knows how many men you have had.... You are lost, damned, forever!” The terrible sound of her weeping echoed and reechoed through the silent old house.
Lily raised her body from the cushions and sat with her silver slippers touching the floor. “What are you saying, Irene?” she asked. “You are mad. There has been nothing ... nothing ... nothing. You are mad!”
It was true that for the moment Irene was quite insane, yet her madness endowed her with the clairvoyance that is beyond sanity. She rushed toward Lily. She would have strangled her but Krylenko stepped between them and held her as if she had been an angry bad-tempered little child.