Celibates Part 51

'She's gone to meet that man; but she shall not. She shall not! I swear it! ... That man, I'll take him by the throat. I ought to have done so long ago; but it is not too late.'

'Father, let us say a prayer together; I have not said one with you since I was a little child. Will you kneel down with me and say a prayer for mother?'

She stretched out her hand to him, and they knelt down together in the drawing-room. Agnes said:

'Oh, my G.o.d, we offer up an our Our Father and Hail Mary that thou may'st give us all grace to overcome temptation.'

The Major repeated the prayers after his daughter, and, when they rose from their knees, Agnes said:

'Father, I never asked a favour of you before. You'll not refuse me this?'

The Major looked at his daughter tenderly.

'You will never again be violent. You promise me this, father. I shall be miserable if you don't. You promise me this, father? You cannot refuse me. It is my first request and my last.'

The Major's face was full of tears. There were none on Agnes' face; but her eyes shone with antic.i.p.ation and desire.

'Promise,' she said, 'promise.'

'I promise.'

'And when the temptation comes you'll remember your promise to me?'

'Yes, Agnes, I'll remember.'

The strain that the extortion of the promise had put upon her feelings had exhausted the girl; she then pressed her hands to her eyes and dropped on the ottoman. For a long while father and daughter sat opposite each other without speaking. At last the Major said:

'I must go out; I cannot stop here.'

'But, father, remember... you are not going to mother.'

'No; only for a trot round the Square.'

She pressed her hand to her forehead; she felt her eyes, they were dry and burning; and it was not until the servant announced Father White that her tears flowed.

VI.

'Then you've heard,' said Agnes, coming forward and taking the priest's hand. 'How did you hear? Did you meet father?'

'No, my dear child, I've heard nothing. I did not meet your father. I was in London to-day for the first time since I last saw you. I ought to have called earlier, but I was detained.... I'm afraid I'm late, it must be getting late. It must be getting near your dinner hour.'

'I see that you know nothing, and that I shall have to tell you all.'

'Yes, my dear child, tell me everything.' Agnes sat on the ottoman, Father White took a chair near her. 'Tell me everything. I see you've been weeping. You're not happy at home then?'

'Oh, Father; happy! if you only knew, if you only knew.... I cannot tell you.' Then seeing in the priest's arrival a means of escape from the danger of her position between her father and mother, she cried, 'You must take me back to the convent to-night. I cannot meet mother when she comes home. Something dreadful might happen. Father White, you must take me back to the convent, say that you will, say that you will.'

'My dear child, you are agitated, calm yourself. What has happened?

Tell me.'

'It is too long a story, it is too dreadful. I cannot tell it all to you now. Later I'll tell you. Take me back to the convent. I cannot meet mother. I cannot.'

'But what has your mother done; has she been cruel to you--has she struck you?'

'Struck me! if that were all! that would be nothing.' The priest's face turned a trifle paler. He felt that something dreadful had happened. The girl was overcome; her nerves had given way, and she could hardly speak. It were not well to insist that she should be put to the torture of a complete narrative.

'Where is your father?' he said. 'Major Lahens will tell me, he knows, I suppose, all about it. Calm yourself, Agnes. Tell me where your father is, that will be sufficient.'

'Father is walking round the Square. But don't leave me, don't. I cannot remain in this room alone,' she said, looking round with a frightened air.

'I'll wait till he comes in.'

'He may not come in for hours. Perhaps he'll never come back, anything may happen.'

'If he's walking round the Square he can be sent for.'

'No, Father White. I'll be calm. I'll tell you. I must tell you, but you'll not desert me, you'll not leave me here to meet mother.'

'Don't you think, my dear child, that it would be better that I should see your father, that he should tell me?'

'No, I'd sooner tell you myself. Father could not explain. To-morrow, or after in the convent I'll tell you. I'll tell you and the Mother Abbess.'

'You must see, Agnes, that I cannot take you away from your father's house without his permission.'

'It is not father's house.'

'Well, your mother's house.'

'That is quite different. I see that I must tell you--of course I must.'

'Surely, Agnes, it would be better to postpone telling me till to- morrow, you're tired, you've been crying, you'll be able to tell me better in the morning. I'll call here early to-morrow morning.'

'No; you must take me back to the convent to-night, I cannot remain here.... You'll agree with me that I cannot when I tell you all.'...

Agnes looked at Father White, she was no longer crying, she had regained her self possession in the necessity of the moment, and she began with hardly a tremble In her voice.

'Mother is not--is not--I'm afraid she is not--But how am I to accuse my own mother.'

'I'm sure now, my dear child, that I was right when I suggested that I should speak to Major Lahens.'

'Because you don't know the circ.u.mstances, nor do you know my father.

No, it must be I. I must tell you.'

There was a note of conviction in Agnes' voice which silenced further protestation, and Father White listened.