Such was the purity of the Church—threatening me with its censures for wishing to follow the purest dictates of my heart, yet taking money from a woman like Alma, who was bribing it to be blind to her misconduct and to cover her with its good-will!
My husband too—his infidelities were flagrant and notorious, yet the Church, through its minister, was flattering his vanity and condoning his offences!
He was coming back to me, too—this adulterous husband, and when he came the Church would require that I should keep "true faith" with him, whatever his conduct, and deny myself the pure love that was now awake within me.
But no, no, no! Never again! It would be a living death. Accursed be the power that could doom a woman to a living death!
Perhaps I was no longer sane—morally sane—and if so God and the Church will forgive me. But seeing that neither the Church nor the Law could liberate me from this bond which I did not make, that both were shielding the evil man and tolerating the bad woman, my whole soul rose in revolt.
I told myself now that to leave my husband and go to Martin would be to escape from shame to honour.
I saw Martin's despairing face again as I had seen it at the moment of our parting, and my brain rang with his passionate words. "You are my wife. I am your real husband. We love each other. We shall continue to love each other. No matter where you are, or what they do with you, you are mine and always will be."
Something was crying out within me: "Love him! Tell him you love him. Now, now! He is going away. To-morrow will be too late. Go to him. This will be your true marriage. The other was only legalised and sanctified prostitution."
I leapt up, and tearing the door open, I walked with strong steps across the corridor towards Martin's room.
My hair was down, my arms were bare in the ample sleeves of my dressing-gown, and my breast was as open as it had been on the balcony, but I thought nothing of all that.