I
"It seems to be my fate," said Polly to herself, "to be always forgiving
and benefiting those that despitefully use me. Imagine me taking this
child--Vincent’s child--and not feeling the least resentment toward
Angelica. I’m only sorry for her."
She was watching the baby lying on the lap of a lively and capable young
nurse, whom she had got by telephone.
"I’m going to adopt this child," she had explained to the young woman.
"His mother can’t keep him."
"It’s a risk," said the nurse. "You never know how they’ll turn out; but
he’s a pretty little fellow--big gray eyes and all. He’s been badly fed,
but I guess we can build him up."
Polly lapsed into a strange, an inexpressible mood. Vincent’s baby!
Wasn’t it really sent to her to take the place of the one she had so
cruelly lost? She certainly didn’t intend to pass the child off as her
own, but she would adopt it and bring it up. She would love it. The
starved and thwarted love which no one else wanted welled up in her
heart.
"He’ll be a lot of trouble to you," said the nurse, looking about the
orderly, pretty little place. "You certainly are good to take such a
burden on yourself."
"I lost a little child of my own," said Polly.
And a dreadful pity for herself, and for Angelica, came over her.
She might well be sorry for Angelica, going out of the house without
that little burden in her arms.
This was the supreme hour of Angelica’s punishment--the inhuman
struggle between her heart and her brain. She did not look upon it as a
punishment, however; she looked upon this horrible renunciation of her
child as a part of the price she was obliged to pay for a magnificent
future. She was bent, resolute, with all the savage resolution of her
lawless soul, to marry Eddie and to obtain all that she so desired. If
she must sacrifice her child, then she would do so, though it left a
wound never to be healed.
She didn’t seek for happiness; if it had been that she wanted, she would
have kept her little baby. She was ready and willing to give up
happiness for success. She wished to vindicate herself, to give proof to
the world of the power which she knew to be within herself.
Oh, to be going home alone, with empty arms! It was too cruel! She
longed for the feel of that little body, for the sound of its feeble
voice, for its eyes looking up at her in pain and innocence. She walked
through the streets with streaming eyes, running against people,
indifferent to abuse or remonstrance.
"I _can’t_ go home without him!" she gasped. "Oh, my little feller! I
can’t go home and see his little clothes--and his empty basket!"
She stopped short.
"No!" she said. "I can’t do this. I thought I could, but I can’t. I got
to have him back. I’d rather he died home with me. Oh, I wish we _were_
dead, the two of us, dead and buried--him and me in one grave!"
She turned and retraced her long road to Polly’s house, as far as the
door; but she did not go in.
"No! Him in there with a trained nurse--no! I’ll give him his chance, my
poor little feller; and I’ll give myself a chance, too," she added. She
started down-town again; but the nearer she got to home, the more
unbearable was the idea of entering there, alone.
"If only I was over this first night!" she moaned. "If I could only just
forget him till to-morrow!"