A LIBEL
As Lydia hurried back to the cloister she had a humiliated sense of
having been in contact with something foul. Indignant at the trap which
had been laid for her, sore at the struggle neither to listen nor to
doubt, one thought only occupied her: to get back to the cloister and
wash her mind and body clean of the whole concern.
She had not been allowed to respond to Neaera's invitation without a
long discussion with Irene and the Mother Superior. The compact upon
which she had come to New York was that she was not to meet Chairo
there; to insure this, it had been the unexpressed understanding that
she would not leave the cloister until Chairo's case was judged--or at
least not leave it without the permission of the Demetrian authorities.
So when Neaera's message was received, Lydia at once showed it to
Irene.
Neaera's role in the whole matter was such an important one, and so much
depended on what it could be proved to have been, that the Mother
Superior judged it worth the risk to allow Lydia to visit Neaera. When,
therefore, Lydia returned to the cloister, Irene at once questioned her
as to the result of the interview.
But Lydia was not prepared to lay bare even to Irene all she had
suffered at Masters's rooms. It was already pitiful enough that her love
for Chairo had become a subject for public discussion, and, indeed, a
matter of political concern. This last agony she would keep to herself;
she felt unable to talk about it to others, so she answered Irene
imploringly:
"Do not ask me. Nothing has come of it which can be of the slightest
importance to the cult or to any one. Neaera is a worse woman than I
thought."
Irene hesitated. She did not wish to intrude on Lydia, and yet she knew
the Mother Superior would not be satisfied with this answer. But there
was no reason for forcing an answer from Lydia at once, so she
accompanied her to her room.
"I want a bath," said Lydia. "I feel contaminated."
"Physically contaminated?" asked Irene, smiling.
"The mere presence of that woman is a physical contamination," answered
Lydia.
"Well, let us go down and take a plunge together," answered Irene,
laughing.
"Will you?" asked Lydia. "And then we can go to the temple afterwards.
That will be the best of all."
The two women stepped down to the swimming bath and donned their
swimming dress.
Lydia stood on the plunging board, and as she raised her beautiful arms
above her head and straightened herself for the plunge, she said:
"Ah! Irene, if life were all as simple and as wholesome and as
delightful as this!"
Reinvigorated by the fresh salt plunge, they resumed their draperies and
walked slowly to the temple. The service was coming to an end and they
knelt to hear the closing chorus of the Choephoroi. The words came with
refreshing distinctness to Lydia, and the hopefulness of them filled her
heart with strength. They told of the beauty of women, of their
devotion. Beauty was a snare, but it was also a sanctuary. For the
goddess gave beauty to the good and to the evil alike--so had the Fates
decreed. And the evil would use it to the undoing of man, but the good
to the building of him up. And the goddess loved good and hated evil.
Then came the prayer of the women; they prayed to Demeter to give them
charm to delight and courage to renounce, that love and moderation bring
in the end happiness and peace.
And the priest lifted his hand in benediction:
"Go forth, for the goddess hath blessed you, and hath bidden you take
heed that, pitiless though be Anagke, even her empire may at last be
broken by the fruit of your womb."
The congregation knelt at these words and remained kneeling while the
choir marched out singing a recessional, solemn and strong. Then came
the novices, the Demetrians, and, last of all, the high priest bearing
the sacred emblem.
When Lydia and Irene left the temple and followed the arcade to the
cloister, all doubts and fears seemed to have fallen from Lydia, as
scales from eyes blinded by cataract.
"How beautiful the cult of Demeter is!" exclaimed Lydia, "and how
strengthening."
Irene passed her arm round Lydia's waist. "You know now," she said, "how
easy my sacrifice has become! Oh, we have to pass through the fire, but
once the ordeal is over, happiness comes unbidden and unexpected. Come
to my boy--my boys, I should say. I left them at work and I shall
probably find them at play; but they are truthful and innocent. Their
innocence is a daily delight to me."
And the two women returned to their duties. Lydia forgot that she had
heard Neaera whispering to Chairo. She had taken in a draught of
strength, and she needed it, for another trial was at hand.
* * * * *
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 passed 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 title "The Demetrian." The cult had pointed out that this title 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 title 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 assignation; 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
goddess, tell me."
"For the love of the goddess," 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?"