The simplicity of immediate flight she had, of course, long ago
abandoned; it would only postpone the struggle with William King. That
inflexible face of duty would hunt her down wherever she was, and take
the child from her. No; there was but one thing to do: parry his
threat of confessing to Dr. Lavendar that he had "made a mistake" in
advising that David should be given to her, by a confession of her
own, a confession which should admit the doctor's change of mind
without mentioning its cause, and at the same time hold such promises
for the future that the old minister would say that she might have
David. Then she could turn upon her enemy with the triumphant
declaration that she had forestalled him; that she had said exactly
what he had threatened to say,--no more, no less. And yet the child
was hers! But as she tried to plan how she should put it, the idea
eluded her. She would tell Dr. Lavendar thus and so: but even as she
marshalled her words, that scene in the waiting-room of the railroad
station ached in her imagination. Alice's ignorance of her existence
became an insult; what she was going to say to Dr. Lavendar turned
into a denunciation of Lloyd Pryor; he was vile, and cruel, and
contemptible! But these words stumbled, too. Back in her mind, common
sense agreed to Lloyd's silence to his daughter; and, suddenly, to her
amazement, she knew that she agreed, not only to the silence, but to
his objection to marrying her. It would be an offence for her to live
with Alice! Marriage, which would have quitted this new tormenting
sense of responsibility and made her like other people, would not have
lessened that offence. It came over her with still more acute
surprise, that she had never felt this before. It was as if that fire
of shame which had consumed her vanity the night she had confessed to
William King, had brought illumination as well as burning. By its
glare she saw that such a secret as she and Lloyd held between them
would be intolerable in the presence of that young girl. Lloyd had
felt it--here she tingled all over:--Lloyd was more sensitive than
she! Ah, well; Alice was his own daughter, and he knew how almost
fanatical she was about truth; so he was especially sensitive. But Dr.
King? He had felt it about David: "whether you married this man or not
would make no difference about David." She thought about this for
awhile in heavy perplexity.
Then with a start she came back again to what she must say to Dr.
Lavendar: "I will promise to bring David up just as he wishes; and I
will tell him about my money; he doesn't know how rich I am; he will
feel that he has no right to rob David of such a chance. And I will
say that nobody could love him as I can." Love him! Had she not given
up everything for him, sacrificed everything to keep him? For his sake
she had not married! In this rush of self-approval she sat up, and
looked blindly off over the orchard below her at the distant hills,
blue and slumberous in the sunshine. Then she leaned her head in her
hands and stared fixedly at a clump of clover, green still in the
yellowing stubble.... She had chosen her child instead of a convention
which, less than a month ago, she had so passionately desired; a month
ago it seemed to her that, once married, she could do no more harm,
have no more shame. Yet she had given all this up for David! ...
Suddenly she spurred her mind back to that talk with Dr. Lavendar: she
would promise--anything! And planning her promises, she sat there,
gazing with intent, unseeing eyes at the clover, until the chilly
twilight drove her into the house.