CHAPTER VII
A TRAGIC DENOUEMENT
Lydia could not disembarrass herself of the feeling of guilt with whichshe awoke after her interview with Irene. She went to the temple forhelp and knelt before the story of Demeter's sorrows, which was told insweeping frescoes on its walls. Chance so happened that she foundherself before that part of the story which described the goddessforgetting her own sorrow in her devotion to the sick child of thewoodman in his hut. The artist, in the reaction from the Greek method oftreating this story which marked the narrative of Ovid as contrastedwith that of Homer, had dwelt upon the humble conditions of the poor hutin which the light of Demeter's golden hair shone like a beneficentaureole; and the nascent maternal instinct in Lydia vibrated to thebeauty of Demeter's task. Was she to renounce this highest standard ofmaternity? What though she did love Chairo, was it not this very lovewhich the goddess bade her renounce? And was not the greater the lovethe nobler the sacrifice?
She returned to the cloister weary with the struggle and strove toforget it by devoting herself to the duties of the hospital. As shecared for a sick child there, the fresco in the temple before which shehad that morning kneeled came back to her, and in the memory of thathour and in the love that went out to the child she was nursing shefound consolation.
But perhaps she was most influenced by a certain capacity for passiveresistance in her, which unconsciously set her upon opposing theinclination to yield, whether to her love for Chairo or to the pleadingof the priest. She could refuse to yield to both more easily than decideto yield to either. And so, many days passed in the valley of indecisionbefore she was lifted out of it by an unexpected event.
A novice came to her one morning and bade her go to Irene, who had askedfor her. She had not seen Irene since the day they had spoken in thecloister and she had wondered; but something in her had secretly beensatisfied. Irene would have challenged her to decide, and this was justwhat she was not prepared to do.
As she followed the novice to Irene's rooms the novice had told her thatIrene was very ill and had moaned all night, begging for Lydia. Inquiryelicited that Irene was threatened and perhaps was actually sufferingfrom congestion of the brain, and that she had been confined to herrooms ever since she had ministered with Lydia in the temple. When Lydiaapproached Irene's rooms a nurse stopped her by saying that Irene hadjust fallen into a sleep--the first for a fortnight--and must not beawakened. So Lydia remained in the sitting room, peeping occasionallythrough the curtain that separated it from the room in which Ireneslept. For many hours Irene remained motionless, but at last as Lydiastood holding aside the curtain, Irene opened her eyes; her face wasflushed; she sprang up in her bed, leaning on one hand, and glared atLydia with eyes that lacked discourse of reason. Then, suddenly, sheseemed to recognize her and a shriek rent the room and sent Lydiastaggering back against the nurse who stood behind her. Putting both herhands over her eyes and ears Lydia dropped the curtain between herselfand the raving Irene; but no hand could keep her from hearing the wordsthat came through the curtain and pierced her brain:
"Go away! Go away!" shrieked Irene. "You have taken him from me! Stolenhim!"
Irene's shriek sounded to Lydia like the crack of doom. Then came thewords, "Stolen him," in the voice of the accusing angel--and as if itwere in answer to her own shrinking gesture of protest behind thecurtain, she heard Irene shriekingly repeat: "Stolen, yes, stolen!"
The nurse put Lydia into a chair and went to Irene; she found her risenfrom the bed, and, shrouded in her curtain of blue-black hair, withlunatic eyes, she was advancing slowly to the room where Lydia sat. WhenIrene saw the nurse she said, in low grave accents, "Not you--not you!"and then with menacing significance added, almost in a whisper, "Theother!"
The nurse tried to stop her and urge her back to her bed, but Ireneswept her away with a single movement of her arm, and moved to thecurtain which separated her from Lydia. But Lydia had by this timerecovered control of herself; she knew that a maniac was approaching andshe arose to await her. Irene pushed aside the curtain and confrontedLydia standing in the middle of the room, motionless and rigid as thoughchanged to stone.
"Don't stand there, brazen-faced!" shrieked Irene. "Kneel--I say,kneel!"
But Lydia stood her ground unflinchingly.
Then Irene burst into a furious laugh: "Great mother," she beganmockingly, and Lydia had to stand and listen while the maniac, withlurid eyes and frantic gesture, recited the most sacred of the prayersto Demeter--the prayer in which daily the vestal repeats her vows; butas the prayer came to a close the light went out of Irene's eyes, thefury out of her gesture; she slowly bent down upon her knees, and thelast words of the prayer were, in a voice sinking to a whisper,addressed to Lydia as though she had been the goddess herself.
When Irene's voice died away it seemed as though the paroxysm was over;she remained kneeling, with her head bowed upon her breast.
Then Lydia thought to lift her up, and bent down to her. Irene looked upsuddenly and shrieked as she recognized Lydia; she frantically waved herhands before her face as though to rid her eyes of the spectacle, andLydia resumed her erect posture again.
By this time the nurse had returned to the room and tried to lead Ireneaway. At first she succeeded, but suddenly Irene swept her away, andconfronted Lydia again:
"It hurts here," she said, clutching at her heart. "You'll know," sheadded, and laughed harshly. "You'll know!" she repeated, and throwing upher hands she clutched the air; then in an agony of paroxysm shewhispered again in a faltering voice, "You'll know"--and suddenly sank ahuddled heap upon the floor.
Lydia and the nurse ran to her and lifted her back upon the bed, andfrom that moment Lydia did not leave her side. For many days lifehovered on the edge of Irene's lips, sometimes appearing to take flightaltogether, and again returning to reanimate the clay. And Lydia withanguish in her heart bent over her night and day.
At last a crisis came and Irene fell into a profound and restful sleep;the fever left her, and the pulse slowly recovered regularity andstrength; she seemed to recognize no one, and it was expected that forsome weeks she would probably remain unaware of those around her. Lydiawas advised to absent herself, lest to Irene, on recovering her reason,the shock of seeing Lydia prove dangerous; and so, one evening as thesun set, her strength shattered, she returned to her own rooms.
It happened that the following day was the ninth of the Eleusinianfestival, on which, if at all, those to whom the mission had beentendered might accept or renounce it. Strange to say, with her waningstrength ebbed also the power of passive resistance which had kept Lydiafrom decision; she surrendered not to the exercise of a controlling willbut to the suggesting influence of Irene's anguish; and on the next dayin the temple, to the rage of some and to the deep concern of all, inthe procession she wore the yellow veil which announced her as a brideof Demeter.