The Lamp of Fate | Page 6

more. As she took it from him he noticed that those thin, angular
arms of hers seemed to close round the little swaddled body in an
almost jealously possessive clasp. But there was none of the tender
possessiveness of love about it. In some oddly repugnant way it
reminded him of the motion of a bird of prey at last gripping
triumphantly in its talons a victim that has hitherto eluded pursuit.

He turned back dully to his contemplation of the wintry garden, nor, in
his absorption, did he hear the whimpering cry--almost of protest-- that
issued from the lips of his first-born as Catherine bore the child away.
For a space it seemed as though his mind were a blank, every thought
and feeling wiped out of it by the stupendous, nullifying fact that his
wife had given birth to a daughter. Then, with a rush as torturing as the
return of blood to benumbed limbs, emotions crowded in upon him.
Catherine's incessant denunciations of his "sin" in marrying Diane
Wielitzska--poured upon him without stint throughout this first year of
his marriage--seemed to din in his ears anew. Such phrases as "selling
your soul," "putting a woman of that type in our sainted mother's
place," "mingling the blood of a foreign dancing-woman with our
own," jangled against each other in his mind.
Had he really been guilty of a sin against his conscience--satisfied his
desires irrespective of all sense of duty?
He began to think he had, and to wonder in a disturbed fashion if God
thought so too. What was it Catherine had said? /"God has indeed taken
your punishment into His own Hands."/
Hugh was only too well aware of the facts which gave the speech its
trenchant significance. He himself had inherited owing to the death of
an elder brother in early childhood. But there was no younger brother to
step into his own shoes, and failing an heir in the direct line of
succession the title and entailed estate would of necessity go to Rupert
Vallincourt, a cousin--a gay and debonair young rake of much charm of
manner and equal absence of virtue. From both Catherine's and Hugh's
point of view he was the last man in the world fitted to become the
head of the family. Hence the eagerness with which they had
anticipated the arrival of a son and heir.
And now, prompted by Catherine's bitter taunt, the birth of a daughter
as his first-born--the first happening of the kind for eight successive
generations--appeared to Hugh in the light of a direct manifestation of
God's intention that no son born of Diane Wielitzska should be

dowered with such influence as the heir to the Vallincourts must
necessarily wield.
Better, even, that the title and estates should go to Rupert! Bad as his
reputation might be, good blood ran in his veins on either side-- an
inherited tradition of right-doing which was bound to assert itself in
succeeding generations. Whereas in the offspring of Diane heaven
alone knew what hidden inherited tendencies towards evil might lie
fallow, to develop later and work incalculable mischief in the world.
Hugh felt crushed by the unexpected blow which had befallen him.
Since his marriage, he had opposed a forced indifference to his sister's
irreconcilable attitude, finding compensation in the glowing moments
of his passion for Diane. Nevertheless--since living in an atmosphere of
disapproval tends to fray the strongest nerves--his temper had worn a
little fine beneath the strain; and with Diane's faults and failings thrust
continually on his notice he had unconsciously grown more critical of
her.
And now, all at once, it seemed as though scales had been torn from his
eyes. He saw his marriage for the first time from the same standpoint as
Catherine saw it, and in the unlooked-for birth of a daughter he thought
he recognised the Hand of God, sternly uprooting his most cherished
hopes and minimising, as much as possible, the inevitable evil
consequences of his weakness in marrying Diane.
He was conscious of a rising feeling of resentment against his wife.
Words from an old Book flashed into his mind: /"The woman tempted
me."/
With the immediate instinct of a weak nature--the very narrowness and
rigidity of his views was a manifestation of weakness, had he but
realised it--he was already looking for someone with whom to share the
blame for his lapse from the Vallincourt standard of conduct, and in
that handful of wayward charm, red lips, and soft, beguiling eyes which
was Diane he found what he sought.

Again the room door opened. This time, instead of putting a longed-for
end to a blank period of suspense, the little quiet clicking of the latch
cut almost aggressively across the conflict of Hugh's thoughts. He
turned round irritably.
"What is it?"