Ainslee's Magazine, February 1913 — page 149: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

THE CHILD and I refused to give you the chance to throw the word ‘lie’ in my face. I wasn’t born to the life you understand: and, though I may stay in this town all my days, I won't live that life. My wife must be mine. Her will must bend to mine. She must not judge me, but obey me. And it is my first business to deserve her trust. Your trust, Helen, that means almost more than your love. I may seem brutal to you, because you don’t understand what you did to me. I had no choice but to compel you to break your own pride and return to me in complete surrender if I could. It might be possible to build up faith on a love that was strong enough to force you back to me even while you believed I held you too cheaply to be on the square with you. This isn’t any smart- set marriage, Helen Kerrall, and it is not going to be one! I said ‘No an- swer’ to-day because I knew that would make you come and tell me the truth, if you were mine; and it did. You and the boy—love of you and your love— that is my life. You think I’ve made a brutal fight for them. But that’s the only way I know how to fight—to win.” Helen had been hanging on his looks and his words. She accepted his cen- sure because its very rigor meant that she was loved unfalteringly. Jim’s severity was balm to the wounds it made. It calmed her shivering nerves. Something new stirred in her, deeper, stronger than her former high-strung passionateness, with its attendant as- sertive prides and jealousies, fears and resentments. Hardly knowing what she said, she began to speak—reaching out to him—the woman to her man. “T see that I have been very guilty. I did not understand—I don’t think I can quite understand—your code. It’s too big for me, Jim. I can’t be sorry and ashamed as I should be, because I am so happy that you love me—only me. I know, by your code, I should never have doubted. But I—I can’t live up to that. Perhaps it is what you call my ‘East.’ It’s the world, Jim—I knew doubt long before I knew love. When I was seventeen I knew about Mary’s 139 trouble. And a little later, Elsie Lovell —I had been her bridesmaid. And I saw how women love men, and how faithless men are; and that, while some women divorce men, others bear the shame and suffering because—oh, for many reasons—for their children, they declare, when they have children. “But it’s not. They are glad to be able to use the children as an excuse. And I always said to myself that J wouldn’t. I used to dream of love, as every girl does, and how wonderful it would be—for a little while. And I used to pray, almost, that | would know how to get the most joy out of that lit- tle brief time when it should come to me —because it couldn’t last! Men are so. They marry not the one and only woman—no—just the woman _ they prefer to have as a wife. “And I vowed marriage should be over for me as soon as—I would not stay and bear it tamely, for love of a man who could take another woman in his arms as he had taken me. Then it came, I thought; and I said I’d leave you, because I had sworn that to my- self long ago. But—oh, Jim—I un- derstood those other women. I of- fered to stay here as Ralph’s mother only—because I couldn’t live without you, without seeing you, hearing you speak. I wanted to be with you and save my pride, too. Can’t you under- stand? You are my husband, the man to whom I have belonged. The worst I believed of you didn’t change that. Trust, faith, these are everything to you. But I—I couldn't trust. I was too afraid. There seemed so little chance of holding happiness. I can only love you in my way, by my na- ture. I must bear anything, everything, and stay with you.” “Helen, dear, don’t say any more.” He was more moved than she had ever seen him. “IT must make you understand. I would do anything—make any sacrifice —for Ralph—hbecause he is your boy. I never had the dreams and hopes other girls talked of, about children. I never wanted one really—till you taught me how a woman must love such a man as (C@ ANC OOK (C@