The Woman Who Vowed Part 10

"I don't know how to say it."

"Bashful?"

"A little."

"Can I guess?"

"I think you can."

"We are all as much puzzled about it as you."

"And yet I am told you pride yourselves on your good behavior."

"Some do"--she paused a little, took a flower from a vase by her side and bit the stalk; she held the flower in her mouth a minute, looked at me again, half closing her eyes; but I remained seated where I was.

Finding I remained unresponsive, she went on:

"We have all the faults that come from too great intimacy between men and women. The men get so accustomed to the women that romance is dead.

We tend to become a vast family of brothers and sisters. Fortunately we travel and receive travelers, and so the dreadful monotony is relieved.

_You_ are a traveler, you see."

I understood now why I was favored, but still I remained seated where I was.

Perceiving that I was either stupid or resolute she jumped up from the divan and came to where I sat. She was short, and as she stood by me, her face was near mine and only a little above it. She had the flower in her hand now, and handing it to me, said:

"Put it in my hair."

I did so. She lowered her head to help me. I thought the time had come to effect an escape.

"Did you ever hear," said I, "the Eastern story of the man with the staff, the c.o.c.k, and the pot?"

"No, tell it me."

"There was once upon a time a man climbing a mountain. He had a pot hung on his arm and a c.o.c.k in his hand. In the other hand he held a staff. On his way he perceived a young girl and invited her to climb the mountain with him. With some little show of reluctance she consented, but as they approached the last house on the mountainside she paused and said:

"'I shall go no farther with you!'

"'Why not?' asked he.

"'Because I fear that when we have gone beyond reach of these houses you will kiss me.'

"'Nay,' answered the man, 'do you not see that both hands are enc.u.mbered? In one hand I hold my staff; in the other is a c.o.c.k and a pot hangs upon my arm.'

"The maiden smiled and they pursued their way. But when they were gone well up on their way the maiden stopped again and said:

"'I shall go no farther with you.'

"'Why not?' asked he.

"'Because I fear that now we are beyond reach of the houses, you will stick your staff in the ground; you will put your c.o.c.k under your pot, and you will kiss me.'

"And the man did then at once stick his staff in the ground; he put the c.o.c.k under the pot and kissed her--as indeed all along she meant he should."

She gradually edged away from me as I proceeded with my story, until at last she sank on the divan again.

When I had finished she said, "That is a very old story, and if you will permit me I shall get to work again."

I bowed very low and left her, feeling more humiliated than Neaera; and I wondered why it was that virtue, in the presence of vice, sometimes seems cheap and even ridiculous.

CHAPTER X

AN UNEXPECTED SOLUTION

Chairo had been kept informed of what was happening to Lydia until the last day of the Eleusinian festival, and he believed that all danger of losing her was over. The appearance of Lydia, therefore, in the procession wearing the yellow veil was all the more a stupefying surprise to him. I was standing with him and Ariston as the procession pa.s.sed, and was looking with eager and delighted interest at the gracefully draped figures that succeeded one another to the sound of music, which, with a subtle combination of majesty and grace, combined the plain chant of the Catholic liturgy with the lighter fugues of Bach, for in and out of great chords there ran intermingling strains of many voices, very light and delicate.

The procession was headed by girls and boys, selected for their perfect wholesomeness, who carried flowers and scattered them; they were dressed in the old Greek _chiton_ which, fastened only above the shoulder, betrayed every movement of their lithe young bodies, as, swaying with the rhythm of the sower casting his seed, they threw their offerings first on one side and then on the other. The governor of the State, the mayor of the city, the commander of the militia, and their respective cabinets and staffs followed, respectively arrayed in the insignia of their office; the other cults also were represented; those of Jupiter robed in purple; those of Asclepius; those of Dionysus, and others. In striking contrast with these came next the novices and the nuns, swathed closely and heavily, even the head being concealed within a fold of drapery. The procession entered from the cloister, and on approaching the altar where was kept burning the vestal flame, it divided so as to allow the high priest and his acolytes to pa.s.s up between. The high priest was followed by the choir, and after the choir walked those who had accepted the mission.

It was upon these that the curiosity and impatience of the congregation centered; it sometimes happened that there were none; in such case the procession was closed by the Demetrians--that is to say, all who had already accepted the mission and completed it. On this occasion a single figure was seen to enter the portal, covered with the yellow veil and so draped as to conceal her features. The head, however, more usually bowed, was erect. For a sensible period of suspense it was impossible to tell who it was that had a.s.sumed the yellow shroud; but presently those nearest to her had discovered Lydia, and her name pa.s.sed in an awful whisper to where we stood. The name once p.r.o.nounced, there could no longer be mistake; Lydia alone of all the postulants could so hold herself: _Vera incessu patuit dea_. I felt a clutch at my arm, and, turning, saw the face of Chairo blanched and hard; but I was too absorbed in the procession to take long heed of him; I saw the procession close, and followed the ritual with breathless interest till the congregation was dismissed, unaware that Chairo had already slipped away from me and out of the temple.

As Ariston and I walked back to our lodging I asked what Chairo would do. Ariston answered that he feared trouble. We were both deeply affected, for even Ariston, votary of Demeter though he was, could not but feel as I did, that there was something in the choice of Lydia strange and portentous. We discussed it in low voices, and for many days little else was spoken of. Meanwhile, anxiety regarding the action of Chairo redoubled for he had disappeared. It was well known that the Demetrian council was taking steps, but no one knew what the steps were, and a sense of impending calamity weighed upon us all.

From the moment Lydia had decided to accept the mission, there seemed to grow in her a strength that was not her own. She rose from the couch, on which she had thrown herself upon leaving Irene, without a symptom of her old irresolution; she stood without sense of fatigue while the yellow shroud was so draped about her as to hide her face to the utmost possible, for though she knew she could not escape recognition an instinct in her set her upon the attempt to do so; and when in the procession she entered the portals of the temple, a glow moved up from her heart to her head that deeply flushed her countenance as she heard the whisper "Lydia" grow from mouth to mouth into an almost angry protestation. Nevertheless, she felt sure now that she was right; it was easier as well as n.o.bler to make the sacrifice than to yield. She walked firmly, with head erect, until she sank upon her knees before the altar, and the choir's triumphant processional was subdued in low responses to the chant of the high priest.

At last he turned to her and lifted his hands in mute suggestion that she should bring her tribute to the G.o.ddess. A Demetrian presented her the flint which was to symbolize the strength of her sacrifice; the priest gave her the steel that symbolized its cruelty; and striking one against the other she lit a spark that added a new flame to the altar.

This was the irrevocable act. A great sigh mingled with many sobs broke from those present in the temple; but _her_ eyes remained dry, and at the close of the ceremony she walked back to the cloister as firmly as she had left it.

But once returned, there came upon her the inevitable reaction; she discovered that the strength which had come upon her suddenly could no less suddenly forsake her; she threw herself upon a couch and asked to be left alone. As the door closed upon her attendant she was half astonished, half afraid to find sobs invade her and tears gush from her eyes. What did it all mean? Had she a will of her own, or was she merely the arena upon which instincts, half of heredity, half of education, were fighting out their battle, independently of her? She seemed to have become a mere spectator of it; alas, she must also be its victim. She lay sobbing until the sobs slowly died away, leaving her exhausted, and at last she slept like a tired child.

The next morning she awoke as weak as though she had had a long fever.

It was the custom for novices to be removed to a temple in an island off the coast as soon as they accepted the mission--for, from the day of acceptance they were secluded--living with Demetrians only, under conditions which, though compatible with their mission were, nevertheless, most conducive to gayety and health. But Lydia was too weak to be moved; and she lay in her bed night and day, eating little, sleeping little, very quiet. There was hardly room in her thoughts for regret; she had committed the irrevocable act and now she must resign herself; her body had been exhausted by the struggle and cried for rest; and rest was given her.

Slowly her strength returned, and she was beginning to feel the time had come to go to the island cloister when, suddenly in the middle of the night, she was aware that some one had pushed aside the curtain at her door and was standing in her room. She had neither seen nor heard anything, but she was conscious of a presence, and a guilty delight in her heart told her, however incredible, that it was--Chairo.

She raised herself in her bed on her hand and found herself seized in a pa.s.sionate embrace.

"For the love of G.o.d!" she heard his voice whisper to her, "don't resist"; and compelling arms lifted her off her couch, wrapped the heavy coverings upon it about her, and carried her like a child out of the room. She was taken into the cloister; her head was covered, and she did not wish to see. The weakness which had racked her bones and from which she had barely recovered came back to her, but now how different! For it wrapped a lethargy about her to which it was an ecstasy to surrender; no pain now; no sorrow; not even contrition. She was in the arms of Chairo, and it had happened without a sign from her; almost against her will; without her consent. For a season, at any rate, Lydia surrendered herself to the sweet self-deception that this had really all happened without her consent. Deep in her heart, however, was the conviction that she had strength enough to resist had she chosen; that a single cry would have sufficed to thwart a desperate stratagem. She was a little alarmed to find that this conviction could remain unshaken, and that, nevertheless, there was a song of thanksgiving in her heart that the strength of resistance had remained unused and the cry remained unuttered.

Chairo's strong arms were about her as he silently hurried through the cloister. Lydia heard other hurrying steps besides his; he had clearly joined confederates; she was soon put into a carriage and whirled away from the temple.

CHAPTER XI

THE PLOT THICKENS