Esther Waters Part 42

"Esther, I don't understand. You need never see this man again if you don't wish it."

"Nay, nay, things ain't so easily changed as all that. He's the father of my child, he's got money, and he'll leave his money to his child if he's made Jackie's father in the eyes of the law."

"That can be done without your going to live with him."

"Not as he wants. I know what he wants; he wants a 'ome, and he won't be put off with less."

"How men can be so wicked as----"

"No, you do him wrong. He ain't no more wicked than another; he's just one of the ordinary sort--not much better or worse. If he'd been a real bad lot it would have been better for us, for then he'd never have come between us. You're beginning to understand, Fred, ain't you? If I don't go with him my boy'll lose everything. He wants a 'ome--a real 'ome with children, and if he can't get me he'll go after another woman."

"And are you jealous?"

"No, Fred. But think if we was to marry. As like as not I should have children, and they'd be more in your sight than my boy."

"Esther, I promise that----"

"Just so, Fred; even if you loved him like your own, you can't make sure that he'd love you."

"Jackie and I----"

"Ah, yes; he'd have liked you well enough if he'd never seen his father.

But he's that keen on his father, and it would be worse later on. He'd never be contented in our 'ome. He'd be always after him, and then I should never see him, and he would be led away into betting and drink."

"If his father is that sort of man, the best chance for Jackie would be to keep him out of his way. If he gets divorced and marries another woman he will forget all about Jackie."

"Yes, that might be," said Esther, and Fred pursued his advantage. But, interrupting him, Esther said--

"Anyway, Jackie would lose all his father's money; the public-house would--"

"So you're going to live in a public-house, Esther?"

"A woman must be with her husband."

"But he's not your husband; he's another woman's husband."

"He's to marry me when he gets his divorce."

"He may desert you and leave you with another child."

"You can't say nothing I ain't thought of already. I must put up with the risk. I suppose it is a part of the punishment for the first sin. We can't do wrong without being punished--at least women can't. But I thought I'd been punished enough."

"The second sin is worse than the first. A married man, Esther--you who I thought so religious."

"Ah, religion is easy enough at times, but there is other times when it don't seem to fit in with one's duty. I may be wrong, but it seems natural like--he's the father of my child."

"I'm afraid your mind is made up, Esther. Think twice before it's too late."

"Fred, I can't help myself--can't you see that? Don't make it harder for me by talking like that."

"When are you going to him?"

"To-night; he's waiting for me."

"Then good-bye, Esther, good--"

"But you'll come and see us."

"I hope you'll be happy, Esther, but I don't think we shall see much more of each other. You know that I do not frequent public-houses."

"Yes, I know; but you might come and see me in the morning when we're doing no business."

Fred smiled sadly.

"Then you won't come?" she said.

"Good-bye, Esther."

They shook hands, and he went out hurriedly. She dashed a tear from her eyes, and went upstairs to her mistress, who had rung for her.

Miss Rice was in her easy-chair, reading. A long, slanting ray entered the room; the bead curtain glittered, and so peaceful was the impression that Esther could not but perceive the contrast between her own troublous life and the contented privacy of this slender little spinster's.

"Well, miss," she said, "it's all over. I've told him."

"Have you, Esther?" said Miss Rice. Her white, delicate hands fell over the closed volume. She wore two little colourless rings and a ruby ring which caught the light.

"Yes, miss, I've told him all. He seemed a good deal cut up. I couldn't help crying myself, for I could have made him a good wife--I'm sure I could; but it wasn't to be."

"You've told him you were going off to live with William?"

"Yes, miss; there's nothing like telling the whole truth while you're about it. I told him I was going off to-night."

"He's a very religious young man?"

"Yes, miss; he spoke to me about religion, but I told him I didn't want Jackie to be a fatherless boy, and to lose any money he might have a right to. It don't look right to go and live with a married man; but you knows, miss, how I'm situated, and you knows that I'm only doing it because it seems for the best."

"What did he say to that?"

"Nothing much, miss, except that I might get left a second time--and, he wasn't slow to add, with another child."

"Have you thought of that danger, Esther?"

"Yes, miss, I've thought of everything; but thinking don't change nothing.

Things remain just the same, and you've to chance it in the end--leastways a woman has. Not on the likes of you, miss, but the likes of us."

"Yes," said Miss Rice reflectively, "it is always the woman who is sacrificed." And her thought went back for a moment to the novel she was writing. It seemed to her pale and conventional compared with this rough page torn out of life. She wondered if she could treat the subject. She pa.s.sed in review the names of some writers who could do justice to it, and then her eyes went from her bookcase to Esther.

"So you're going to live in a public-house, Esther? You're going to-night?

I've paid you everything I owe you?"