"Not that I'm thinking of myself, ma'am. Dear heart, no! It's only too
eager I'd be to have the lil angel to myself. There she is on the
hearthrug, ma'am, and if anything happens to Mary O'Neill, it's there
she'll be for the rest of _my_ life, and it's sorry I am for the
darling's sake that my time cannot be longer. . . .
"But Mary O'Neill isn't for leaving her little one to go into any
convent. 'Deed no, ma'am! There would be no rest on her if she did. I'm
a mother myself and I know what she'd be feeling. You might put the
black hood on her head, but Nature's a wonderful powerful thing, and
she'd never go to bed at night or get up in the morning without thinking
of her baby. 'Where's she now?' she'd be asking herself. 'What's
happening to my motherless child?' she'd be saying. And as the years
went on she'd be thinking, 'Is she well, and has she taken her first
communion, and is she growing up a good woman, and what's the world
doing on her?' . . .
"No, ma'am, no! Mary O'Neill will go into no convent while her child is
here to be cared for! 'Deed she won't! Not Mary O'Neill! I'll never
believe it of her! Never in this world!"
I heard nothing more for a long time after that--nothing but a noise in
my own head which drowned all other noises. And when I recovered my
composure the Reverend Mother and Father Dan must have gone, for there
was no sound in the room below except that of the rocking-chair (which
was going rapidly) and Christian Ann's voice, fierce but broken as if
baby had cried and she was comforting her.
Then a great new spirit came to me. It was Motherhood again! The mighty
passion of motherhood--which another mighty passion had temporarily
overlaid--sweeping down on me once more out of the big, simple,
child-like heart of my Martin's mother.
In the fever of body and brain at that moment it seemed to solve all the
problems of life for me.
If the Commandment of God forbade me to marry again because I had
already taken vows before the altar (no matter how innocently or under
what constraint), and if I had committed a sin, a great sin, and baby
was the living sign of it, there was only one thing left me to do--to
remain as I was and consecrate the rest of my life to my child.
That would be the real expiation, not burying myself in a convent. To
live for my child! Alone with her! Here, where my sin had been, to work
out my atonement!
This pleased and stirred and uplifted me very much when I first thought
of it. And even when I remembered Martin, and thought how hard it would
be to tear myself away from the love which waited with open arms for me
(So near, so sweet, so precious), there seemed to be something majestic,
almost sublime, in the sacrifice I was about to make--the sacrifice of
everything in the world (except one thing) that was dearer to me than
life itself.
A sort of spiritual pride came with the thought of this sacrifice. I saw
myself as a woman who, having pledged herself to God in her marriage and
sinned against the law in breaking her marriage vows, was now going to
accept her fate and to humble herself before the bar of Eternal Justice.
But oh, what a weak, vain thing I was, just when I thought I was so
strong and noble!
After a long day in which I had been fighting back the pains of my poor
torn heart and almost persuading myself that I had won a victory, a
letter came by the evening post which turned all my great plans to dust
and ashes.
The letter was from Martin. Only four little pages, written in my
darling's rugged hand, half serious and half playful, yet they made the
earth rock and reel beneath me.
"MY DEAR LITTLE WOMAN,--_Just back from Windsor. Stunning 'do.'
Tell you all about it when I get back home. Meantime up to my eyes
in work. Arrangements for next Expedition going ahead splendidly.
Had a meeting of the committee yesterday and settled to sail by the
'Orient' third week in August, so as to get down to Winter Quarters
in time to start south in October.
"Our own little affair has got to come off first, though, so I'll
see the High Bailiff as soon as I return.
"And what do you think, my 'chree'? The boys of the 'Scotia' are
all coming over to Ellan for the great event. 'Deed, yes, though,
every man-jack of them! Scientific staff included, not to speak of
O'Sullivan and old Treacle--who swears you blew a kiss to him. They
remember you coming down to Tilbury. Aw, God bless me soul, gel,
the way they're talking of you! There's no holding them at all at
all!
"Seriously, darling, you have no time to lose in making your
preparations. My plan is to take you to New Zealand and leave you
at Wellington (good little town, good people, too) while I make my
bit of a trip to the Pole.
"We'll arrange about Girlie when I reach home, which will be next
week, I hope--or rather fear--for every day is like a month when
I'm away from you.
"But never mind, little woman! Once I get this big Expedition over
we are not going to be separated any more. Not for a single day as
long as we live, dearest! No, by the Lord God--life's too short for
it._
"MART."