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.
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