Abbie still pressed her hands to her head, and stared before her without
speaking.
"You were false to your marriage vows; after that, you neglected your
husband no less than he you; you never tried to make yourself lovable to
him; you were the only wronged one! you could do no wrong yourself! At
last you had a son."
She raised her eyes, which, during the last few minutes had become
bloodshot, and fixed them fearfully upon the young man's face, as he
continued: "You loved him, as most females do love their young, and yet not so
generously as most. It was not as his father's child, but only as your
own, that he was dear to you; he was your child, a part of yourself,
and you loved him only because you loved yourself.
"When he was still a baby you left your husband's house, and thereby, if
justice were done, forfeited the recognition of good women, and pure
society; but you took great credit to yourself because you left your son
and your money behind you. Was it nothing in the balance, then, the
scandal, worse than any poverty, which the recovery of your property
would have caused? Nothing but self-sacrifice, to leave a sickly child
to all the advantages that wealth could give it? Well, a month
afterward, in spite of wealth, your son died."
At this announcement, Abbie's convulsive strength, which had thus far
served to keep her erect and motionless, exhaled itself in a long groan,
and left her placid and nerveless. Seeing her about to fall, Bressant
put forth his hands and grasped her arms below the shoulder, holding her
thus while he went on. Her eyes were closed and her head fell forward on
her bosom; but, so blinded was the young man by the remorseless passion
which had gradually been working up within him, he failed to perceive
that the old woman's ears were no longer sensible to his voice, nor her
heart sensitive to his words.
"He died, and I was younger than he, but stronger, and more like my
father. I was put in his place, and was called by his name. I grew up
proud of what I thought my aristocratic birth! I resolved to become the
most famous of mankind, and I found an angel and was going to marry her.
But the evil began to come with the good: it began long ago, and in many
ways, and I tried to overcome it, or provide against it, one way or
another. You benevolent people had led me into a battle-field, unarmed,
and then left me to fight my way through; and I should have done it,
too, but at the last I had myself to fight against, and then I gave
in. Why, I had been dead and buried more than twenty years--why don't
you laugh at that?--and had been imposed upon all that time by this
miserable nameless outcast, myself! whose father's name was Adultery and
his mother's Sin. That was a parentage to be proud of, wasn't it? And
yet, I swear before God, I'm better contented it should be so, than to
be the son of an honest marriage, with such a woman as you for my
mother."