Mr. Marx's Secret
Page 14
CHAPTER XIII. THE CLOUD BETWEEN US.
It was late when I reached home and, from the darkness in all thewindows, I concluded that my mother and the one country domestic whocomprised our little household had already retired. My hand was raised torap at the closed door, when it occurred to me that I might just as welleffect an entrance without disturbing anyone. Our sitting-room windowopened on to the front garden in which I stood and was seldom fastened,so I stole softly over the sodden grass and pressed the sash upwards. Ityielded easily to my touch and, gently raising myself on to the low stonewindow-sill, I vaulted into the room.
At first I thought it was, as I had expected to find it, empty. But itwas not so. Through the open window by which I had just entered themoonlight was streaming in, casting long, fantastic rays upon thewell-worn carpet and across the quaint, old-fashioned furniture and onthe white tablecloth, on which my homely evening meal had been leftprepared. But my eyes never rested for a moment on any of these familiarobjects, scarcely even noticed them, for another and a stranger sightheld me spellbound. At the farther end of the room, where the shadowshung darkest and the moonbeams but feebly penetrated, was the kneelingfigure of a woman.
Her perfectly black dress threw the ghastly hue of her strained, wildface into startling prominence, and her slender arms were stretchedpassionately upwards in a gesture full of intense dramatic pathos. Hereyes were fixed upon a small ebony crucifix which hung against the wall,and the words were bursting from her white, trembling lips, but whetherof prayer or confession, I could not, or, rather, would not, hear, for Iclosed my eyes and the sound of her voice reached me only in anindistinct moan. It was a sight which has lived in my memory and willnever fade.
Since that awful night in Rothland Wood, my mother's behaviour towards mehad been a source of constant and painful wonder. She had become anenigma, and an enigma which I somehow felt that it would be well for menot to attempt to solve.
But even at the times when my loveless surroundings and her coldness hadplunged me into the lowest depths of depression, it had never been analtogether hopeless state, for somehow I had always felt that hercoldness was not the coldness of indifference, but rather an effort ofwill, and that a time would come when she would cast it off and be to meagain the mother of my earlier recollections. But the change was long incoming.
She was a devout Roman Catholic--a religion in which I had not beenbrought up--and in all weathers and at all times of the year, she paidlong and frequent visits to the monastery chapel over the hills. But tosee her as she was now was a revelation to me. I had seen her praybefore, but never like this. She had always seemed to me more of a martyrthan a sinner and her prayers more the prayers of reverent devotion thanof passionate supplication. But her attitude at this moment, her wild,haggard face, and imploring eyes, were full of revelation to me. Anotherpossible explanation of her lonely, joyless life and deep religiousdevotion flashed in upon me. Might it not be the dreary expiation, thehard penance of her church meted out for sin?
Half fearing to disturb her, I remained for a brief while silent, but, asthe minutes went on, the sight of her agony was too much for me and Icried out to her:
"Mother, I am here. I did not know that you were up! I came in throughthe window!"
At the first sound of my appealing tones her face changed, as thoughfrozen suddenly from passionate expressiveness to cold marble. Slowly sherose to her feet and confronted me.
"Mother, are you in trouble?" I said softly, moving nearer to her;"cannot I share your sorrow? Cannot I comfort you? Why am I shut out ofyour life so? Tell me this great trouble of yours and let me share it."
For many years I had longed to say these words to her, but the coldimpressiveness of her manner had checked them often upon my lips andthrust them back to my aching heart. Now, when a great sorrow filled herface with a softer light and loosened for a moment its hard, rigid lines,I dared to yield to the impulse which I had so often felt--and, alas! invain--in vain!
Keener agony, deeper disappointment, I have never felt. Coldness andindifference had been hard to bear, but what came now was worse. Sheshrank back from me--shrank back, with her hands outstretched towards meand her head averted.
"Philip, I did not know that you were here. I cannot talk to you now. Goto your room. To-morrow--to-morrow!"
Her voice died away, but her sudden weakness inspired me with no hope,for it was a physical weakness only. There were no signs of softening inher face, no answering tenderness in her tones. So what could I do butgo?