Leave her. He shuddered at
the thought. It would be criminal to cause her so great a grief, for
he was assured that she loved him passionately, and he was deeply
and fondly grateful to her for doing so. She might some day grow
tired of him. He hoped for this, but the hope was so faint, so
secret, so hidden, that he hardly dared confess it to himself,
knowing well that it was a deadly and altogether undeserved insult
to her love. And even this faint hope vanished when she whispered
the news of her prospective motherhood in his ear; now there was no
possibility of a dissolution of their connection. If a human
creature was indebted to him for its life, he must give himself up
to it, and to this sacred duty he must sacrifice freedom, happiness,
even self-respect. But his heart contracted with a bitter pang at
the thought. It was as if a black curtain had been drawn in front of
him, or a window walled up which permitted a view over the open
country from a dark room.
However, he had been spared this crowning addition to the burden of
his discomfort, and he breathed more freely. But the episode had
served to rend the last remaining veil that hung before his moral
eye. That the situation should seem so unbearable, that he was so
sensitive to the opinion of others, that his blood had run cold at
Pilar's news, that he had felt the disappointment of her hopes as a
relief, that the idea that the danger might recur should fill him
with terror--this all pointed to one fact, the realization of which
forced itself upon him with inexorable persistency; he did not love
Pilar, or at any rate he did not love her sufficiently--not enough
to take her finally into his life, and, possessing her, to forget
himself and all the world beside.
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