"You say you cannot live any longer with your husband because he has
broken the vow he made to you at your marriage. But think how many many
thousands of poor women all the world over are doing it every
day--living with adulterous husbands for the sake of their homes and
children. And not for the sake of their homes and children only, but for
the sake of their souls and their religion. Blessed, blessed martyrs,
though we know nothing about them, holding society and the Church and
the human family together."
I was trembling all over. I felt as if Father Dan were trying to take
away from me the only sweet and precious thing in my life that was left.
"Then you think you cannot live without the one you love, because all
your heart is full of him. But think of the holy women, the holy saints,
who have gone through the same temptation--fighting against it with all
the strength of their souls until the very wounds of our blessed Lord
have been marked on their bodies."
He was creeping closer to my side. His voice was quivering at my ear. I
was struggling hard, and still trembling all over.
"Hold fast by the Church, my child. It is your only refuge. Remember
that God made your marriage and you cannot break it without forsaking
your faith. Can anything be good that is bought at such a price? Nothing
in this world! When you meet to-morrow night--you two children--tell him
that. Tell him I told you to say so. . . . I love you both. Don't break
your old priest's heart. He's in trouble enough for you already. Don't
let him think that he must lose you altogether. And then remember your
mother, too--that saint in heaven who suffered so long and was patient
. . . Everything will depend upon you, my child. In matters of this kind
the woman is the stronger vessel. Be strong for him also. Renounce your
guilty love, my daughter--"
"But I cannot, I cannot," I said. "I love him, and I cannot give him
up!"
"Let us ask God to help you," said Father Dan, and still holding my hand
he drew me down to my knees and knelt beside me. The room was dark by
this time, and only the sullen glow from the peat fire was on our faces.
Then in a low voice, so low that it was like his throbbing whisper
before the altar, when he raised the Sacred host, Father Dan prayed for
me (calling me his dear child whom God had committed to his care) that I
might keep my marriage vow and be saved from the temptation to break it.
His beautiful prayer or his throbbing voice, or both together, had a
great effect upon me, and when I rose to my feet, I felt stronger.
Although Martin was as dear to me as ever, I thought I saw my way at
last. If he loved me as I loved him, I had to be brave for both of us. I
had to oppose to the carnal instinct of love the spiritual impulse of
renunciation. Yes, yes, that was what I had to do.
Father Dan saw me to the door.
"Give my love to my boy," he said, "and don't forget what I told you to
tell him."
"I'll tell him," I replied, for though I knew my heart was bleeding I
felt calm and more courageous.
It was milking time and the cows were lowing in the byre when I crossed
the fields and the farm-yard on my way back to my father's house.
Early next morning I left it for Castle Raa.