The Woman Who Vowed Part 22

Lydia was allowed to sleep that night the sleep of the innocent, but the next morning while she was engaged in the hospital ward, Irene came to her with an expression of agitation on her face that was unusual. She carried in her hand a newspaper, which Lydia was not slow in recognizing, and asked Lydia when she would be through her work, as she had an important word to say to her.

Lydia promised to hurry and be back in her room within ten minutes.

Irene said she would go at once to her room and wait there. The moment Irene left the room the probable contents of the newspaper flashed upon her, and she saw the folly of her reticence. She was putting the last bandage about the leg of a child when suddenly, at the thought of the false construction that might be placed upon her silence, a weakness came over her that made it almost impossible for her to finish her task.

"What is the matter, Aunt Lydia?" asked the child; "you look pale."

Lydia collected herself. "Nothing," she said, "I shall be all right presently." She pa.s.sed her unoccupied hand over her eyes and was able to resume and complete her work.

When she had sewn up the bandage she put back the small wounded limb into the bed, tucked in the sheets, and, preoccupied as she was with her new concern, was moving away without giving the child the customary kiss.

"Aunt Lydia!" cried out the child, holding out its little hands.

"Darling," answered Lydia, and as the soft arms closed around her neck and she felt innocent lips upon her cheek, tears gushed from her eyes, of which--relief though they gave her--she was nevertheless ashamed.

The child looked wonderingly at her, and she said:

"It is nothing at all, and Aunt Lydia is very grateful for a sweet little kiss."

The child patted her cheek with a dimpled hand as she bent over him, and Lydia left, wondering how often she would have to be reminded that happiness did not depend only upon the satisfaction of our own desires.

She had left the temple full of this thought, and yet a suspected attack, directed by a newspaper against her own particular designs, had in a moment blackened her entire horizon. When she reached her room and found Irene there she was once more calm and strong.

She found Irene sitting down, with the newspaper open on her knees. It was published by a few devotees in vindication of the cult, although lacking its support. The cult had, indeed, often tried to suppress its publication but had not succeeded. It had been able only to compel the publishers to change its name, for it had been published at first under the t.i.tle "The Demetrian." The cult had pointed out that this t.i.tle gave the impression that it was an authorized organ, whereas it was not only unauthorized but published in a spirit opposite to that taught by the cult. So the name had been changed to "Sacrifice," this word having been selected in opposition to the word "Liberty"--the t.i.tle of its rival.

In the issue of that morning was the following paragraph:

"We are incensed to learn that although Chairo was given his liberty on the express understanding that he was not to use it in order to consummate his outrage on Lydia, and although Lydia was allowed to come to New York only on the condition that she was to remain confined to the cloister and not to see Chairo, these two, who have already scandalized the cult and the whole community beyond endurance, managed yesterday to meet clandestinely at the rooms of Masters, between ten and eleven in the morning. Masters is not in New York, so he cannot be held responsible for this a.s.signation; and Masters being out of town it is hardly necessary to point out that on this occasion the guilty couple were quite alone."

Lydia thought when she entered her room that she was braced to endure anything, but when she came to the closing words of the paragraph the blood rushed to her face. She managed, however, to avoid further expression of her indignation.

"It is false, of course?" said Irene.

"No," answered Lydia, and with burning cheeks she turned her tired eyes on Irene. "It is not false--and it is not true."

"What do you mean?" asked Irene anxiously.

"Chairo was there."

"And you saw him?"

Irene was bending over her breathlessly.

A fearful agitation tormented Lydia. Must she indeed renew the anguish of that hour--nay, treble it, by laying it bare to all the world? She could have told it to Irene, but to tell it to her as a vindication of herself would involve the telling of it to the Mother Superior and to the rest. And who would believe that she had not seen or spoken to Chairo, that far from seeing him, she had crouched in an adjoining room with her fingers at her ears in agony lest she should hear and lest she should not hear?

She remained silent, with her head bowed over the offending sheet.

"You _must_ tell me," Irene pleaded; "I need not tell it to any one--at least I think I need not," added she, hesitating, "but I know you have done no wrong; you must clear yourself, Lydia; for the love of the G.o.ddess, tell me."

"For the love of the G.o.ddess," repeated Lydia slowly; she paused a moment, and then, mistress of herself again, she said:

"I neither saw Chairo nor spoke to him. _You_ will believe this, but who else will?"

"Your word is enough for me," answered Irene, "and I shall make it enough for them all."

The women arose and embraced each other, then Lydia said:

"Too much has been already said about the most secret as well as the most sacred matters of a woman's life. It belongs to us women to preserve the dignity that we derive from Demeter, and that we owe her. I shall say no more on this matter. Am I not right?"

CHAPTER XXIV

NEAERA AGAIN

Neaera's attempt on Chairo had proved a humiliating failure, and when she confronted Lydia her cheeks were flushed, not with success as might have been imagined, but with the effort to escape without disgrace from a situation for which she had no one to thank or blame but herself.

Chairo had certainly at one time been attracted by Neaera beyond the limits of mere companionship, but he had not taken long to discover that the glances that tended to bewitch him were no less bewitchingly turned on others, and he soon put Neaera where she deserved in his acquaintance.

She was extremely useful to him in his political plans and on the staff of "Liberty"; and although he was dimly conscious that Neaera would to the end--at every moment that the strain of the actual work was relieved--endeavor to bring into their intimacy the element of coquetry of which she was a past master, Chairo treated this disposition with something of the amused sense of her charm that would be elicited by a pet animal. And this willingness to be amused by her Neaera understood to mean a tribute to her attractiveness that might on a suitable occasion lead to an exchange of vows at the altar of matrimony.

But she little understood Chairo when she attempted to force the occasion of their meeting at Masters's into a channel so opposite to his present disposition. When he entered the room where Neaera awaited him the lines in his face and the fatigue in his eye elicited from Neaera an e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n in which, strange to say, there was some real sincerity. She was truly sorry for him, and she was woman enough to guess that the weary face before her was due to no mere political reverses, for the face was not only that of a tired man, it was also that of a man who had been chastened. She was restive under the thought that the chastening influence could be his love for Lydia, and the problem before her grew complicated when she guessed how difficult it would be for her to elicit from Chairo any word that could sting the woman whom to that particular end she had secreted in the adjoining room. Then, too, although she was mistress of her own voice, she was not mistress of Chairo's, and the possibility that Lydia might close her ears was one that did not enter within the scope of Neaera's imagination.

After having expressed her sympathy for Chairo and found that it elicited little or no response from him, but, on the contrary, that he was eager to know the reason of her presence in New York and of her message to him, she launched upon a highly imaginative account of her relations to Masters, and with her command of humor very soon got Chairo laughing over the success with which, according to her story, she had pulled the wool over Masters's eyes. Chairo had no reason to love Masters, and he had long ceased to regard Neaera as a responsible person; the immorality of her proceeding affected him, therefore, no more than if he had observed it in a monkey or a cat.

Neaera told her story in words so rapid and a voice so low that Lydia could hardly have understood it had she tried, and Neaera felt that she had scored a point when she had made Chairo laugh. Then, antic.i.p.ating the effect of silence on Lydia, she had handed Chairo some selected pa.s.sages from Masters's letters to read, and as Chairo burst again into laughter over certain pa.s.sages in them, Neaera began to feel she might venture farther. Laughter, especially over an unrighteous matter, tends to make all righteousness seem superfluous, but when Neaera got near Chairo, in a pretense of reading over his shoulder, a very slight and almost unconscious movement of Chairo away from her made her understand that any further effort in this direction would be a mistake.

So Neaera set herself to discussing very seriously the situation with Chairo, a.s.sured him that she was prepared to sacrifice herself, and with a tear in her eye admitted to him, almost in a whisper, that she had tampered with his carriage.

"I knew it," said Chairo.

"But did you guess why?" asked Neaera, very low.

Chairo did not answer, but looked inquiry.

"Then you shall never know," continued Neaera.

This was the psychological moment of the interview. She had intended, had Chairo given her the least encouragement, to throw herself into his arms and confess to him that she had never loved any man but him, that so great was her love for him that she was prepared now to face the investigating committee, tell the whole story, and telling the story by so much exonerate him. She had expected that if there was a spark of affection in Chairo's heart for her, his chivalrousness would be roused by this offer, and he would share her fortunes rather than permit her sacrifice to a.s.sure his.

But the possibility of this imagined scene had been dissipated by that little unconscious movement of Chairo's away from her. Then, too, she knew that Lydia was in the next room, and she almost regretted now that she was there, for if Lydia had not been there she might have risked the venture. But that Lydia should witness a humiliating rejection was a risk she could not take. So she had spoken very low and rapidly in the hope that although Lydia might not hear any specific word that would hurt, she might gather a general impression that would sufficiently torment her. She little knew how completely she was, to this extent at any rate, succeeding.

"My dear Neaera," answered Chairo, "you are a very charming and complicated person and I do not pretend to guess why you chose to thwart my plans. But you have done me a great wrong in many ways. Should you decide now to repair them--in so far as this is possible--you will be behaving in a manner which, though proper, would hardly be consistent."

He smiled a little as he said this; Neaera wished he would not speak so loud, and was even betrayed into a gesture which he interpreted as a gesture of protest, but was really an instinctive effort to induce him to lower his voice.

"You are very cruel to me," said Neaera, and she lowered her eyelids so that her long, black lashes swept her cheek.