Black is White 53

Black is White 53

She shrank slightly as he stood over her. There was more of wonder and

pity in his face than condemnation. She looked for the anger she had

expected to arouse in him, and was dumbfounded to see that it was not

revealed in his steady, appraising eyes.

 

“Your plan deserved a better fate than this, Yv--Thérèse. It was

prodigious! I--I can almost pity you.”

 

“Have you no pain, no regret, no grief?” she cried weakly.

 

“Yes,” he said, controlling himself with difficulty. “Yes, I know all

these and more.” He picked up the package of letters and glanced at the

superscription on the outer envelope. Suddenly he raised them to his

lips and, with his eyes closed, kissed the words that were written

there. Her head drooped and a sob came into her throat. She did not look

up until he began speaking to her again, quietly, even patiently.

 

“But why should you, even in your longing for revenge, have planned to

humiliate and degrade him even more than I could have done? Was it just

to your sister’s son that you should blight his life, that you should

turn him into a skulking, sneaking betrayer? What would you have gained

in the end? His loathing, his scorn. Thérèse, did you not think of all

this?”

 

“I have told you that I thought of everything. I was mistaken. I did

not stop to think that I would be taking him away from happiness in the

shape of love that he might bear for someone else. I did not know that

there was a Lydia Desmond. When I came to know my heart softened and

my purpose lost most of its force. He would have been safe with me, but

would he have been happy? I could not give him the kind of love that

Lydia promised. I could only be his mother’s sister to him. He was not

in love with me. He has always loved Lydia. I fascinated him, just as I

fascinated you. He would not have gone away with me, even after you had

told him that he was not your son. He would not do that to you, James,

in spite of the blow you struck him. He was loyal to Lydia and to

himself.”

 

“And what did he think of _you?_” demanded Brood scornfully.

 

“If you had not come upon us here he would have known me for who I am,

and he would have forgiven me. I had asked him to go away with me. He

refused. Then I was about to tell him the whole story of my life, of his

life, and of yours. Do you think he would have refused forgiveness to

me? No! He would have understood.”

 

“But up to that hour he thought of you as--what shall I say?”

 

“A bad woman? Perhaps. I did not care. It was part of the price I was to

pay in advance. I would have told him everything as soon as the ship on

which we sailed was outside the harbour yonder. That was my intention,

and I know you believe me when I say that there was nothing more in my

mind. Time would have straightened everything out for him. He could have

had his Lydia, even though he went away with me. Once away from here, do

you think that he would ever return? No I Even though he knew you to

be his father, he would not forget that he has never been your son. You

have hurt him since he was a babe. Would he forget? Would he forgive?

No! When you came into this room and found us, I was about to go down

on my knees to him to thank him for saving me from my own designs. I

realised then, as I had come to suspect in the past few months, that I

had not counted on my own conscience.

 

“James, I--I would not have carried out my plan. I had faltered, and my

cause was lost. What have I accomplished? Am I able to gloat over you?

What have I wrought, after all? I weakened under the love she bore for

you, I permitted it to creep in and fill my heart. Do you understand?

I do not hate you now. It is something to know that you have worshipped

her all these years. You were true to her. What you did long, long ago

was not your fault. You believed that she had wronged you. But you went

on loving her. That is what weakened my resolve. You loved her to the

end, she loved you to the end. Well, in the face of that, could I go on

hating you? You must have been worthy of her love. She knew you better

than all the world. You came to me with love for her in your heart. You

took me, and you loved her all the time. I am not sure, James, that you

are not entitled to this miserable, unhappy love I have come to feel for

you--my own love, not Matilde’s.”

 

“You are saying this so that I may refrain from throwing you out into

the street------”

 

“No!” she cried, coming to her feet. “I shall ask nothing of you. If

I am to go, it shall be because I have failed. I have been a blind,

vainglorious fool. The trap has caught me instead of you, and I shall

take the consequences. I have lost everything!”

 

“You have lost _everything_,” said he steadily.

 

“‘You despise me?”

 

“I cannot ask you to stay here after this.”

 

“But I shall not go. I have a duty to perform before I leave this house.

I intend to save the life of that poor boy downstairs, so that he may

not die believing me to be an evil woman, a faithless wife. Thank God, I

have accomplished something! You know that he is your son. You know that

my sister was as pure as snow. You know that you killed her, and

that she loved you in spite of the death you brought to her. That is

something.”

 

Brood dropped into the chair and buried his face on his quivering arms.

In muffled tones came the cry from his soul:

 

“They’ve all said that he is like me. I have seen it at times, but I

would not believe. I fought against it resolutely, madly, cruelly! Now

it is too late and I _see!_ I see, I feel! You curse of mankind, you

have driven me to the killing of my own son!”

 

She stood over him, silent for a long time, her hand hovering above his

head.

 

“He is not going to die,” she said at last, when she was sure that she

had full command of her voice. “I can promise you that, James. I shall

not go from this house until he is well. I shall nurse him to health and

give him back to you and Matilde, for now I know that he belongs to both

of you and not to her alone. Now, James, you may go down to him. He is

not conscious. He will not hear you praying at his bedside. He------”

 

A knock came at the door--a sharp, imperative knock. It was repeated

several times before either of them could summon the courage to call

out. They were petrified with the dread of something that awaited them

beyond the closed door. It was she who finally called out:

 

“Come in!”

 

Dr Hodder, coatless and bare--armed, came into the room.

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER XXII

 

The doctor blinked for a moment. The two were leaning forward with

alarm in their eyes, their hands gripping the table.

 

“Well, are we to send for an undertaker?” demanded Hodder irritably.

 

Brood started forward.

 

“Is--is he dead?”

 

“Of course not, but he might as well be!” exclaimed the doctor. It was

plain to be seen that he was very much out of patience. “You’ve called

in another doctor and a priest, and now I hear that a Presbyterian

parson is in the library. Hang it all, Brood, why don’t you send for the

coroner and undertaker and have done with it! I’m blessed if I------”

 

Yvonne came swiftly to his side.

 

“Is he conscious? Does he know?”

 

“Hodder, is there any hope?” cried Brood.

 

“I’ll be honest with you, Jim. I don’t believe there is. It went in

here, above the heart, and it’s lodged back here by the spine somewhere.

We haven’t located it yet, but we will. Had to let up on the ether for a

while, you see. He opened his eyes a few minutes ago, Mrs Brood, and

my assistant is certain that he whispered Lydia Desmond’s name. Sounded

that way to him, but, of course------”

 

“There! You see, James?” she cried, whirling upon her husband.

 

“I think you’d better step in and see him now, Jim,” said the doctor,

suddenly becoming very gentle. “He may come to again, and it may be the

last time he’ll ever open his eyes. Yes, it’s as bad as that.”

 

“I’ll go,” said Brood, his face ashen. “You must revive him for a few

minutes, Hodder. There’s something I’ve got to say to him. He must

be able to hear and understand me. It is the most important thing in

the------” He choked up suddenly.

 

“You’ll have to be careful, Jim. He’s ready to collapse. Then it’s all

off.”

 

“Nevertheless, Dr Hodder, my husband has something to say to his son

that cannot be put off for an instant. I think it will mean a great deal

to him in his fight for recovery. It will make life worth living for

him.”

 

Hodder stared for a second or two.

 

“He’ll need a lot of courage, and if anything can put it into him he’ll

make a better fight. If you get a chance, say it to him, Jim. If it’s

got anything to do with his mother, say it. He has moaned the word a

dozen times------”

 

“It has to do with his mother!” Brood cried out. “Come! I want you to

hear it, too, Hodder.”

 

“There*isn’t much time to lose, I’m afraid,” began Hodder, shaking his

head. His gaze suddenly rested on Mrs Brood’s face. She was very erect,

and a smile such as he had never seen before was on her lips, a smile

that puzzled and yet inspired him with a positive, undeniable feeling of

encouragement.