'But your children—Mollie: would you forsake Mollie?' pleaded Audrey, with tears in her eyes. 'Would you neglect your sacred responsibilities for duties no one would demand of a mother?'
'Am I fit to discharge my responsibilities?' she returned in a cold, hard voice. 'Has anyone but Cyril ever kept me straight? Do you think Mollie and I could go on living the same old life without him? Audrey, you do not know what you say; such an existence would rob me of my reason.'
'But what will become of Mollie?' asked Audrey, concealing her alarm at this wild speech. 'You must not only think of yourself.'
'Mollie will go with me,' she returned. 'I shall not forsake her. The convent that I propose to enter has a home attached to it, where they educate girls belonging to the upper classes. Mollie will have plenty of companions. The nuns are kind women, and they will not coerce her in any way, and there will be sufficient for her maintenance.'
'But when she grows up—when her education is finished: what will become of her then?'
But Mrs. Blake did not seem clear on this point. The convent had its boarders, she remarked; with the superior's permission, Mollie might still remain there, and lead a tolerably happy life.
'There will be other young ladies; she will not be dull,' she went on. 'The rule is a strict one—that is why I chose it—but I should be allowed to see her sometimes; perhaps she too may turn Catholic, and then all will be well.'
But Audrey's honest nature revolted against this merciless arrangement. She saw clearly that Mrs. Blake's weak, excitable nature had been under some strong influence, though it was not until later that she heard that during the last few months she had secretly attended a Roman Catholic chapel near them. Doubtless Biddy, who was a stanch Romanist, had connived at this.
And now she had planned this strange expiation for herself, and poor Mollie must be sacrificed. What would Cyril have thought of such an unnatural arrangement? For Cyril's sake, for Mollie's, Audrey felt she must combat this notion.
'Mrs. Blake,' she said very earnestly, 'it is not for me to question your actions with regard to yourself. If you are at heart a Roman Catholic—if all these years you have been an unprofessed member of that Church—it may be as well for you to acknowledge it openly. I do not believe myself that a convent life is free from its trials and temptations. Human nature is the same everywhere, and even sanctified human nature is liable to error. Wiser people than myself would tell you that peace of mind would be more surely attained by remaining in the path of duty. Dear Mrs. Blake, forgive me if I pain you, but would'—she hesitated a moment—'would not Cyril have disapproved of his mother taking such a step?'