An Ambitious Man

Even after he had heard the story of her life, he was not deterred

from his resolve to make her his wife. All the Christian charity of

his nature, all its chivalry was aroused, and he believed he was

plucking a brand from the burning. He never repented his act. He

lived wholly for his wife and child, and for the good he could do

with them as his faithful allies. He drew more and more away from

all the allurements of the world, and strove to rear Joy in what he

believed to be a purely Christian life, and to make his wife forget,

if possible, that she had ever known a sorrow. All of sincere

gratitude, tenderness, and gentle affection possible for her to feel,

Berene bestowed upon her husband during his life, and gave to his

memory after he was gone.

Joy had been excessively fond of Mr Irving, and it was the dread of

causing her a deep sorrow in the knowledge that she was not his

child, and the fear that Preston Cheney would in any way interfere

with her possession of Joy, which had distressed the mother during

the visit of the Baroness, rather than unwillingness to have her sin

revealed to her daughter. Added to this, the intrusion of the

Baroness into this long hidden and sacred experience seemed a

sacrilege from which she shrank with horror. But she now told the

tale to Arthur Stuart frankly and fearlessly.

He had asked her to confide to him whatever secret existed regarding

Joy's birth.

"There is a rumour afloat," he said, "that Joy is not Mr Irving's

child. I love your daughter, Mrs Irving, and I feel it is my right

to know all the circumstances of her life. I believe the story which

was told my mother to be the invention of some enemy who is jealous

of Joy's beauty and talents, and I would like to be in a position to

silence these slanders."

So Mrs Irving told the story to the end; and having told it, she felt

relieved and happy in the thought that it was imparted to the only

two people whom it could concern in the future.

No disturbing fear came to her that the rector would hesitate to make

Joy his wife. To Berene Dumont, love was the law. If love existed

between two souls she could not understand why any convention of

society should stand in the way of its fulfilment.

Arthur Stuart in his role of spiritual confessor and consoler had

never before encountered such a phase of human nature. He had

listened to many a tale of sin and folly from women's lips, but

always had the sinner bemoaned her sin, and bitterly repented her

weakness. Here instead was what the world would consider a fallen

woman, who on her deathbed regarded her weakness as her strength, her

shame as her glory, and who seemed to expect him to take the same

view of the matter. When he attempted to urge her to repent, the

words stuck in his throat. He left the deathbed of the unfortunate

sinner without having expressed one of the conflicting emotions which

filled his heart. But he left it with such a weight on his soul,

such distress on his mind that death seemed to him the only way of

escape from a life of torment.