An Ambitious Man

His love for Joy Irving was not killed by the story he had heard.

But it had received a terrible shock, and the thought of making her

his wife with the probability that the Baroness would spread the

scandal broadcast, and that his marriage would break his mother's

heart, tortured him. Added to this were his theories on heredity,

and the fear that there might, nay, must be, some dangerous tendency

hidden in the daughter of a mother who had so erred, and who in dying

showed no comprehension of the enormity of her sin. Had Mrs Irving

bewailed her fall, and represented herself as the victim of a wily

villain, the rector would not have felt so great a fear of the

daughter's inheritance. A frail, repentant woman he could pity and

forgive, but it seemed to him that Mrs Irving was utterly lacking in

moral nature. She was spiritually blind. The thought tortured him.

To leave Joy at this time without calling to see her seemed base and

cowardly; yet he dared not trust himself in her presence. So he sent

her the strangely worded letter, and went away hoping to be shown the

path of duty before he returned.

At the end of three months he came home stronger in body and mind.

He had resolved to compromise with fate; to continue his calls upon

Joy Irving; to be her friend and rector only, until by the passage of

time, and the changes which occur so rapidly in every society, the

scandal in regard to her birth had been forgotten. And until by

patience and tenderness, he won his mother's consent to the union.

He felt that all this must come about as he desired, if he did not

aggravate his mother's feeling or defy public opinion by too

precipitate methods.

He could not wholly give up all thoughts of Joy Irving. She had

grown to be a part of his hopes and dreams of the future, as she was

a part of the reality of his present. But she was very young; he

could afford to wait, and while he waited to study the girl's

character, and if he saw any budding shoot which bespoke the maternal

tree, to prune and train it to his own liking. For the sake of his

unborn children he felt it his duty to carefully study any woman he

thought to make his wife.

But when he reached home, the surprising intelligence awaited him

that Miss Irving had left the metropolis. A brief note to the church

authorities, resigning her position, and saying that she was about to

leave the city, was all that anyone knew of her.