Cicely’s mind was as keenly awake now as it had been benumbed at first. Teaching that she had heard without realization of hearing it, came to life, stored up within that memory which is one of the soul’s component parts.
The Church’s laws were not flexible on fundamental questions; they were made for all, and whether they were brought to bear upon a case which seemed to deserve the severity of their full application, or whether—as now—they seemed too cruel, they admitted no indulgence. Rodney Moore had married a girl who was baptized in the Catholic Church, as was he. He had married unwisely, from unworthy motives, but that did not lessen the guilt of the wife who had betrayed him. The Church would not insist that the union of marriage be maintained in such a case as this, but Rodney and his wife had spoken the vow which precludes the taking of another man or woman in espousal till death has ended the duration of that vow. The state could annul the civil marriage which it had made, but far beyond its province lay the sacramental marriage, so far beyond it that not even the Church, with its divinely delegated authority to bind and to loose could annul a marriage to which there was no impediment according to her laws; performed by her authority under God; vowed to God directly; sealed by her sacramental seal which cannot be broken till death has broken it.
This knowledge of the Church’s position as to marriage came clearly before Cicely’s mind as she knelt, her eyes fixed upon the altar, which she did not see. With such vivid remembrance of what she had been taught by sermons, by reading, by acquaintance with Catholics like the Dowling family, whose talk on divorce she had heard and shared, for it is a subject that no modern American can escape, Cis marshalled the facts of the Catholic Church’s attitude toward divorce. She had heard words which returned to her, and she knew who it was that had uttered them. “For this cause shall a man leave father and mother and shall cleave to his wife; and they two shall be as one flesh. And he that shall marry her that is put away committeth adultery.”
Strange that she should remember this! Cis wondered at it; she could not ordinarily repeat texts. There was no divorce, not within the Church. Cicely knew now why she had repeated wearily those horrible words: “He has a living wife.”
Rodney had a living wife, and while she lived Cicely Adair could not be his wife, however wicked his wife had been—not in the eyes of the Catholic Church!
There was the crux of the matter. In the eyes of the state, of the average American society, Cicely Adair, and still another after her, might be Rodney Moore’s wife for all his first misadventure!
Rodney implored her to come out of the Church into freedom. Ah, yes, and more, far, far more—into his arms, into his home, into that lovable, cheery, blessed little apartment waiting for them!
She had but to go to him, tell him that she was ready, that she would leave all to follow him—She checked herself; even in her thoughts she could not travesty the divine words which related to marriage, but to the sacrament of marriage. Not to leave Him did Our Lord bid His followers leave all to cling to a wife, but rather to come after Him and, thus coming, derive strength to cleave to one spouse in a union transcending the weakness of nature.
Back upon its track Cicely’s mind travelled, leaving the thought of Our Lord’s teaching. Rodney bade her prove her love for him. He had reminded her of how indifferent a Catholic she was. It was true. She rarely thought about her faith; it did not form an integral, vital part of her days. She kept to it, but she did not enjoy it, nor did she often draw near to its heart, nor know much about its devotions, live in its calendar year. She dimly knew that some people did these things; Nan came nearer to it than Cis realized, she imagined, but as a rule these things seemed to be fit for nuns.
She need never take a definite step, like renouncing her faith overtly. All that she had to do was to marry Rodney. She would have to be married by a civil officer, or a minister; no priest could marry her, of course, and that would put her outside the Church. After that she would go into her own home, and live her life of complete devotion to Rodney. If she had children she would widen out to embrace them in her heart, but Rodney first! Always, always Rodney first! She—they—could teach their children to be upright, kind, good citizens, good moral men and women. Rodney said it was ridiculous to delude yourself into thinking that more than this was needed, or that anyone really knew anything more about life and death than that a man must live in the world decently, and then when he died, if there was anything more for him, he’d be sure to get the good coming to him, because he had not made the world a worse place for anyone else. And if there were nothing beyond but a long, dreamless sleep, and pretty flowers springing out of your ashes—well! Then that’s all there was of it, and you would have played your part creditably and gone out leaving an honored name.