CHAPTER XL

Leonard—hewouldfigureatlengthinanewspaperreport,butthateveninghedidnotcountformuch.Thefootofthetreewasinshadow,sincethemoonwasstillhiddenbehindthehouse.Butabove,toright,toleft,downthelongmeadowthemoonlightwasstreaming.Leonardseemednotaman,butacause. PerhapsitwasHelen’swayoffallinginlove—acuriouswaytoMargaret,whoseagonyandwhosecontemptofHenrywereyetimprintedwithhisimage.Helenforgotpeople.Theywerehusksthathadenclosedheremotion.Shecouldpity,orsacrificeherself,orhaveinstincts,buthadsheeverlovedinthenoblestway,wheremanandwoman,havinglostthemselvesinsex,desiretolosesexitselfincomradeship? Margaretwondered,butsaidnowordofblame.ThiswasHelen’sevening.Troublesenoughlayaheadofher—thelossoffriendsandofsocialadvantages,theagony,thesupremeagony,ofmotherhood,whichisnotevenyetamatterofcommonknowledge.Forthepresentletthemoonshinebrightlyandthebreezesofthespringblowgently,dyingawayfromthegaleoftheday,andlettheearth,thatbringsincrease,bringpeace.NoteventoherselfdaresheblameHelen. Shecouldnotassesshertrespassbyanymoralcodeitwaseverythingornothing.Moralitycantellusthatmurderisworsethanstealing,andgroupmostsinsinanorderallmustapprove,butitcannotgroupHelen.Thesureritspronouncementsonthispoint,thesurermaywebethatmoralityisnotspeaking.Christwasevasivew