Truly, however, it was her first time. The recollection of the dead husband and the loveless marriage made her wince.
"A little tact," she said hurriedly. "A wife—especially in the early days—is called on for a little tact."
"Oh, ma'am, you'll manage him all right—with your knowledge of the world."
But her knowledge of the world had gone, and she did not wish it back again. Each time that for a brief space she thought logically and clearly, doubt and fear tortured her.
In the night fear used to come. Suddenly her rainbow-tinted dream disintegrated, fell into shreds and patches of cloud with wisps of coloured light that gyrated and faded; and then she lay staring at the blank wall of hard facts. This thing was monstrous—no valid hope of permanent happiness in it.
And she thought with dreadful clearness that she was either not young enough or not old enough for such a marriage. If she had been ten years older, it would not have mattered—it would be just a legalized companionship—an easier arrangement, but essentially the same thing as though she had adopted him as her son. But now it must be a real marriage—or a most tragic failure. He had made her believe that the realm of passion and love was not closed to her; that he would give her back what the years had taken from her; that she might drink at the fountain of his youth and so renew her own.
In the dark cold night when the dream vanished, fear ruled over her. The words of the marriage service—heard so lately—echoed in her ears. Solemnization or sacrament—it is impious, blasphemous to enter God's house and ask for a blessing on the bond, unless the marriage falls within the limits of nature's laws. She remembered what the priest says about the causes for which matrimony was ordained; she remembered what the woman has to say about God's holy ordinance; and best of all she remembered what the man, taught by the priest, says when he slips the ring on the woman's finger.
"With my body I thee worship!"... Could it be possible? "Taught by the Priest"—yes, but the man should need no teaching. The words on his lips should be the light rippling murmur above the strong-flowing stream of his secret thoughts, and the stream must be fed by deep springs of perfectly normal love. Nothing less will satisfy, nothing less can satisfy the hungry heart that is surrendering itself to his power. Respect, esteem, steadfast affection—none of that will do. It must be love, or nothing.
Yet after each of these troubled nights the day brought back her dream.
Yates had promised to stand by her, and she faithfully kept the promise. She gave homely, well-meant advice; occasionally administered a little dose of pain in what was intended for a sedative or stimulant; but was always ready with sympathy, even when she failed to supply consolation and encouragement. Apparently forgetting in the excitement of the hour that she herself was an old spinster, she spoke with extreme confidence of all the mysteries of the marriage state.