MORTAL SIN
Joy irradiating the small, wan features, Claire looked up into Alexis'
face. At the pathetic bewilderment in her eyes, a spasm of contrition
shot through him. He sat down beside the bed and took her hand in his.
Dim and bare, the hospital room was stereotyped but comfortable.
However, it struck a chill to Alexis' heart and he shuddered a little,
as he returned the feeble pressure of the cold fingers.
"Poor Claire, what a horrible time you've had!" he whispered.
She shook her head and smiled up at him faintly.
"Oh, no, Alexis, it might have been so much worse. Everybody has been so
good to me here. The sisters are wonderful!" Her eyes left his face for
a moment and travelled to the window where a nun was sitting. The
flaring coif, the white kerchief, framed a beautiful serenity and Claire
sighed as her gaze rested upon the folded hands. Would such peace ever
be hers? she wondered enviously. Alexis' eyes, following hers, flashed
sudden distaste. To him the serenity spelt stupidity; the folded hands,
laziness. Hatred of all dogma had obsessed him since childhood, and was
still one of the few prejudices which had survived his habitual
indifference. It had always proved a bone of contention between him and
Claire, who during a three-year sojourn in a French convent, had become
an ardent, if somewhat spasmodic, convert.
Swift as was the expression of antagonism, Claire perceived it. She
clasped his fingers nervously and sought to distract his attention.
"But, Alexis, how did you ever find me? You must think I am crazy not to
have asked you immediately!"
He smiled down upon her.
"Oh no, I knew you would come to it eventually," he paused.
"Well, how did you?" she insisted. "You see I didn't really come to
myself until yesterday, and early this morning when I told them to
notify Aunt, they said that my family already knew where I was and had
ordered me to be put in a private room. I was in the ward before." She
looked at him gravely.
Alexis regarded her with pity.
"Yes, poor little girl, I know. It must have been awful. I never can
forgive myself for all you've suffered." He stooped suddenly and kissed
her on the cheek.
Tears streaming down her face, she turned her head away.
"You don't have to do that, Alexis," she whispered.
His lips salty with her tears, he continued somewhat unsteadily.
"Do you want to know how I found you, little cousin? It was really very
simple although long drawn out. Ito watched you from the window as you
left the house. He saw you enter a taxi. (Something odd in your
appearance and manner had frightened him. Let me see, that was three
days ago, wasn't it?)"
She nodded mutely, and he continued.
"When you didn't arrive home that night, he called up the taxi company
and they traced you to the church door. Knowing your religious
proclivities," they smiled tremulously at each other, "I interviewed
several of the priests and finally found the one to whom you had
confessed."
"That must have been horrible!" Claire interrupted with forced levity. A
growing fear was in her eyes. "What did he tell you?" She sat up in bed.
A deep flush suddenly replaced her former pallor.
Her agonized embarrassment did not escape Alexis. He broke in quickly,
"Nothing at all, of course. Secrecy of the confessional and all that,
you know."
She collapsed upon the pillows. Disregarding her obvious agitation,
Alexis went on quietly.
"He merely told me that you seemed ill. That perhaps you had fainted in
the street and been taken to some hospital. I thought it an excellent
suggestion, and after calling up about four or five hospitals and
describing you and your clothes (you can thank Ito for that--he knew
what you had on to the last detail), we finally succeeded in discovering
you here. That is all." Releasing her hand, which he had held in his all
this time, he patted it gently.
She looked up into his face with grateful eyes.
"Oh Alexis, how good of you to take so much trouble for me. How can I
ever thank you?"
"It wasn't good of me, and you know it. I've been a brute all along. But
if you want to please me you must take care of yourself. As soon as you
are able to leave the hospital and go back to the apartment you must
take one of these sisters home with you and keep her as long as
necessary. But I will consult the doctor about that," he added with a
business-like air, which contrasted oddly with his usual lack of
responsibility.
Claire sat up suddenly and clasped his arm.
"That won't be necessary at all. Please don't consult the doctor about
me. I'm perfectly well, only a little tired and not quite myself
since----since you went to the sanitarium. Now that you are all right, I
shall pick up quickly and--and Alexis," she continued bravely, "whenever
you want the separation you can have it, of course!" She spoke in a low
voice so that the nun might not hear.
He flushed painfully.
"We won't think about that now, Claire. I want you to get well before we
decide upon anything. Who knows, we may change our minds?" he added with
a weak desire to please her.
She winced. When she replied her voice was still low, but almost hard.
"Please don't try to deceive me, Alexis. I know you too well. You are
sorry for me now. But you don't love me any more than you did a week
ago. I am willing to go back to your mother if you desire it. You are my
husband and I must obey you. But I beg of you not to pretend--that is
more than I can bear!" With a stifled sob she fell back upon the pillow.
Torn with shame and pity, Alexis started to speak, but before he could
say a word, the sister rose from her seat in the window and approached
the bed.
"I'm afraid you are exciting my patient," she said pleasantly.
Alexis met her gentle gaze with a guilty expression.
"I'm afraid I am, but I didn't mean to," he stammered contritely.
"Perhaps I'd better go?"
The sister nodded.
"It would be best, but I'll give you a minute or two to say goodbye in,"
she added with a lenient smile. The young couple interested her, and her
old maid's heart was gripped by their very evident problem. With
punctilious courtesy, she turned and walked back to the window.
Alexis knelt quickly beside the bed and laid his face against Claire's
head. His lips upon the thick, black hair, he whispered in the averted
ear.
"Can you ever forgive me, Claire? I must have been born an utter cad. I
just can't seem to help it!"
She turned her face towards him indignantly and put her hand upon his
lips.
"Don't say such a thing," she murmured beneath her breath, but with
startling intensity. "You are Alexis, and that is all I ask. And now go,
my dear, I am tired."
She pushed him away feebly. He rose to his feet and kissed remorsefully
the little hand she extended.
"I am not fit to live!" he exclaimed, unconsciously expounding man's
most stereotyped phrase, and filling her woman's soul thereby with the
usual illogical pity.
When he had left and the nun had gone to her supper, she broke down
completely. Poor Alexis, poor Claire, she thought bitterly, into what a
miserable tangle they had blundered. And what a wretched fool she
herself had been. Such a beautiful bond had existed between them, and in
her greedy effort to draw it still closer, she had snapped it asunder.
For her aunt, the real instigator of it all, she had scarcely a thought
of blame. Even if she had known the entire truth, she probably would not
have reproached her. Her instinct told her that it was her own blissful
acquiescence by which she had been betrayed. She accepted her
responsibility very simply and without thought of contradiction.
It was with this idea uppermost in her mind that she had gone to St.
Patrick's, instead of her own little chapel, in the hope of finding a
priest to whom she would not have to reveal her identity. It had been
easy enough to find him and to recount her simple tragedy as briefly as
possible. But the verdict had not been the one for which she had hoped,
although the adviser had proved more gentle and more wise than the
average haphazard priest upon whom she and her problem might have
fallen. And she had kept nothing back, from the casual nature of the
marriage itself, to the unforeseen but natural and physical consequences
buried deep within her body. Even when she came to the pitiful attempt
at suicide she had drawn forth scarcely a reproach from the other side
of the confessional. The old man had listened to similar stories so
often. His heart had been bruised by a thousand vicarious sorrows. It
was not until she hinted at her desire for escape that he raised a
protest. She had whispered brokenly of Alexis' love for another woman
and had ventured to ask if it wouldn't be possible for the church to
grant a divorce, or even to annul the marriage. The old man had told her
very sternly that that would be a sin almost as mortal as suicide, in
the face of the life which she was carrying. Did she want to add another
fatherless waif to the unnamed legions already encumbering the world?
Her duty was to the new life, to make its inception as happy as
possible, and through it to bring her mistaken young husband back into
the pathway of duty. At those last words, Claire recalled that she had
almost smiled. Alexis and the pathway of duty had seemed so ludicruously
unakin, somehow! No, the only thing to do, the priest had continued
somewhat droningly, was to take up her life again as she had left it. If
her husband did not wish to live with her, that was not her fault.
Probably when the child was born, he would have a change of heart, etc.,
etc.
Only partly convinced, but too weary to resist the age-old arguments,
she had left the confessional with a half-formulated resolve of drifting
for a while and seeing whether time might not alter the situation.
But out on the church steps the brilliant sunshine seemed to pierce into
her brain. She had been seized with familiar giddiness. A merciful veil
of blackness suddenly obscured her vision, and she knew no more until
yesterday afternoon when she had awakened to find herself in a hospital
ward.
It had been a rather horrifying sensation to lose an entire day and
night out of existence. To suddenly discover oneself in the public ward
of a great hospital! A horror mitigated by the kindness of the sisters
and the concern of the visiting young doctor, who had taken it for
granted that Claire had realized the exact nature of her condition.
Since then, before seeing Alexis, she had had time to think. She had
lain awake all night over her problem. In spite of the frightful wrench
to spirit and pride, she had come to the same inevitable conclusion as
the day before. Because of the child that was coming she would sacrifice
her own desires and return to Alexis' mother. However, she allowed
herself one reservation, of which she knew the old priest would not
approve, but to which pride obstinately clung. Neither Alexis nor his
mother should be told of her "hopes" as the sister so chastely put it,
until it was no longer possible to conceal it from anyone. As soon as
she heard that Alexis was coming to the hospital, she had made both the
doctor and the nurse promise solemnly not to divulge her secret. A
request acceded to with small reluctance, as similar whims constantly
arose within their province.
How devoutly she hoped they were keeping their word!
For probably at this very moment Alexis was interviewing the doctor on
her behalf and making arrangements for the return to the apartment. That
return which she dreaded from the bottom of her soul. That apartment
where her aunt, Mme. Petrovskey held sway and was waiting to encompass
her with the cold and bland silence which was hers habitually, and
which, characteristically, she had not broken since Claire's
disappearance.
She had not dared to ask Alexis if he would be there, too. She hardly
knew whether she desired it. An appalling weariness warned her that she
would be unable to cope with the emotions his presence involved. Yet
without him life was void, the future a terrifying blank.
Too spent for tears, she turned her leaden body and burying her face
against the pillow, sank into a lethargy as deep and almost as peaceful
as the elusive death which had failed her.