Part 62 (1/2)
”It is very simple, very simple indeed, though it will not seem natural to you. You are the only very good woman I ever knew, who made me feel that she was good instead of making me see it. Perhaps you think it unnatural that I should be attracted by goodness at all. But I am not very bad, as men go.”
”No. I do not believe you are. And I am not so good as you think.” She sighed softly.
”You are much better than I once thought,” answered Lord Redin. ”Once upon a time--well, I should only offend you, and I know better now.
Forgive me for thinking of it. I wish to tell you something else.”
”If it is something which has been your secret, it is better not told,”
said Francesca, quietly. ”One rarely makes a confidence that one does not regret it.”
”You are a wise woman.” He looked at her thoughtfully. ”And yet you must be very young.”
”No. But though I have had my own life apart, I have lived outwardly very much in the world, although I am still young. Most of the secrets which have been told me have been repeated to me by the people in whom others had confided.”
”All that is true,” he answered. ”Nevertheless--” He paused. ”I am desperate!” he exclaimed, with sudden energy. ”I cannot bear this any longer--I am alone, always, always. Sometimes I think I shall go mad!
You do not know what a life I lead. I have not even a vice to comfort me!” He laughed low and savagely. ”I tried to drink, but I am sick of it--it does no good! A man who has not even a vice is a very lonely man.”
Francesca's clear eyes opened wide with a startled look, and gazed towards his averted face, trying to catch his glance. She felt that she was close to something very strong and dreadful which she could not understand.
”Do not speak like that!” she said. ”No one is lonely who believes in G.o.d.”
”G.o.d!” he exclaimed bitterly. ”G.o.d has forgotten me, and the devil will not have me!” He looked at her at last, and saw her face. ”Do not be shocked,” he said, with a sorrowful smile. ”If I were as bad as I seem to you just now, I should have cut my throat twenty years ago.”
”Hus.h.!.+ Hus.h.!.+” Francesca did not know what to say.
His manner changed a little, and he spoke more calmly.
”I am not eloquent,” he said, looking into her eyes. ”You may not understand. But I have suffered a great deal.”
”Yes. I know that. I am very sorry for you.”
”I think you are,” he answered. ”That is why I want to be honest and tell you the truth about myself. For that reason, and because I cannot bear it any longer. I cannot, I cannot!” he repeated in a low, despairing tone.
”If it will help you to tell me, then tell me,” said Francesca, kindly.
”But I do not ask you to. I do not see why we should not be the best of friends without my knowing this thing which weighs on your mind.”
”You will understand when I have told you,” answered Lord Redin. ”Then you can judge whether you will have me for a friend or not. It will seem very bad to you. Perhaps it is. I never thought so. But you are a Roman Catholic, and that makes a difference.”
”Not in a question of right and wrong.”
”It makes the question what it is. You shall hear.”
He paused a moment, and the lines and furrows deepened in his face. The sun was sinking fast, and the long beams had faded away out of the shadows. There was no one in sight now, but the music of the benediction service echoed faintly in the distance. Francesca felt her heart beating with a sort of excitement she could not understand, and though she did not look at her companion, her ears were strained to catch the first word he spoke.
”I married a nun,” he said simply.
Francesca started.
”A Sister of Charity?” she asked, after a moment's dead silence. ”They do not take vows--”
”No. A nun from the Carmelite Convent of Subiaco.”