But now, as she stood, unobserved, regarding her daughter, the rebuke that lay half-formed upon her lips remained unuttered. Her jaw dropped slowly, she gasped, whilst the room, rocked by the fury of the wind, seemed to oscillate about her. Mary's abandonment, her relaxed attitude, the profile of her unrestrained figure, plucked at the instrument of the mother's memory and touched a hidden chord in her mind, bringing back suddenly the unforgettable remembrance of her own travail. An illuminating flash, more terrible than any lightning stroke, pierced her understanding. All the latent, the unthought-of and unthinkable misgivings which had been dormant within her, bounded before her in one devastating conviction. The pupils of her eyes dilated into pools of horror and, clutching her shrunken bosom with her left hand, she raised her right drunkenly and pointed her finger at Mary.
"Look look at me!" she stammered.
With a start Mary turned and, her brow dewed with perspiration, looked at her mother dumbly. Immediately the mother knew, knew inexorably, and Mary saw that she was discovered. Instantly a shriek burst from Mrs. Brodie like the cry of an outraged animal. Higher and more piercing than the wind it shrilled inside the room and echoed screechingly through the house. Again and again she shrieked,
lost in the grasp of hysteria. Blindly Mary clutched at her mother's dress.
"I didn't know, Mamma," she sobbed. "Forgive me. I didn't know what I was doing."
With short, stabbing blows Mrs. Brodie thrust Mary from her. She could not speak; her breath came stertorously from her in panting spasms.
"Mamma! Dear Mamma! I understood nothing! I didn't know I was wicked. Something's hurting me now. Help me!" she begged her.
The mother found her tongue with difficulty.
"The disgrace! Your father!" she moaned. "Oh! It's a nightmare. I'm not awake."
She screeched again madly. Mary was terrified; this outcry imprisoned her in a cell of iniquity; she heard in each scream the wide broadcast of her disgrace.
"Oh! Please, Mamma, don't call out like that," implored Mary, her head hanging abjectly; "only stop and I'll tell you everything."
"No! No!" shrieked Mamma. "I'll hear nothing! Ye’ll have to face your father. I'll be party to nothing. I'm not responsible. It's only yourself to blame."
Mary's limbs trembled violently. "Dear Mamma! Is there no excuse for me?" she whispered. "I was so ignorant."
"Your father will kill ye for this," screamed Mrs. Brodie. "It's your fault."
"I implore you, Mamma," pleaded Mary feverishly, "not to tell father. Help me for two days more only two days" she cried desperately, trying to bury her head on her mother's breast "dear, kind Mamma. Keep it between us till then. Only two days more! Please Oh! Please!"
But again her mother, terrified beyond reason, thrust her off and cried out wildly:
"You must tell him at once. I'm no' to blame. Oh! The wickedness of ye to get us into such trouble. Oh! The wickedness, the wickedness!"
Then, with a bitter finality, Mary realised that it was hopeless to entreat her mother further. A great fear descended on her and, with it, the rushing desire to escape. She felt that if she left her, Mamma might recover her control. She desired urgently to get out of the room, and pushing past her mother, she began hastily to descend the stairs. But when she was halfway down, suddenly she raised her head and saw at the foot of the staircase, standing in the hall, the heavy figure of her father.
Brodie had the custom, every Sunday afternoon after dinner, of resting. He went with the regularity of clockwork into the parlour, closed the door, drew the curtains, removed his frock coat and laid his ponderous bulk down upon the sofa, where he slept heavily for two or three hours. But to-day he had been disturbed by the storm, and he had slept only in snatches, which was worse than not sleeping at all. The loss of his sleep had aggravated him, rendering his temper
sour, and, in addition, he took it as a matter of great annoyance to his sense of order that his time-honoured ritual should have been deranged in such an outrageous fashion. The culmination of his vexation had been achieved when he had been aroused from a snatch of sleep by the fall of the flagstaff from his house. He was in a flaming rage and, as he stood in his shirt sleeves, looking at Mary, his upturned face reflected the bitter resentment of his mood.
"Have we not enough noise outside that you must start that infernal din upstairs?" he shouted. "How can a man sleep with such a fiendish blattering in his ears? Who was making that noise? Was it you?" He glared at her.
Mamma had followed Mary and now stood swaying upon the top landing, rocking herself to and fro, with her arms clasped upon her breast. Brodie turned his inflamed eye upon her.
"This is a braw house for a man to rest in," he flared. "Do I not work hard enough for ye through the week ? What is this day made for, will ye tell me ? What's the use of all that godly snivellin' talk of yours if ye must go and ring our ears like this. Can I not lay down for a minute without this damned wind howlin', and you howlin' like a hyena too?"
Mrs. Brodie did not reply but still swayed hysterically at the top of the stairs.
"What are you going on about? Are you gone silly?" bawled Brodie. "Has the thunder turned your reason to make ye stand like a drunken fishwife?"
Still she was silent, and it then dawned upon him, from her manner, that some disaster had occurred.
"What is it?" he shouted roughly, "Is it Nessie? Has the lightning
hit her? Is she hurt?"
Mamma shook her whole body in a frantic negation the catas-
trophe was worse than that!
"No! No!" she gasped. "It's her her!" She raised her hand accusingly against Mary. Not even the most shadowy instinct of protection was in her. Her terror of Brodie in this awful calamity was so unbounded that her only impulse was to disclaim all responsibility, all knowledge of the crime. She must at all costs defend herself from any charge of liability in the matter.
"For the last time," raged Brodie, "I ask ye what it is. Tell me, or by God I'll come up to ye both."
"It wasn't my fault," cringed Mrs. Brodie, still shielding herself from the undelivered charge, "I've brought her up always like a Christian girl. It's her own natural badness." Then, realising that she must tell or be beaten, she strained her body to the utmost, threw her head back and, as if each word cost her an unbearable effort of ejaculation, sobbed:
"If you must know. She's going she's going to have a child."
Mary stiffened, whilst the blood drained from her face. Her mother, like Judas, had betrayed her. She was lost trapped her father below, her mother above.
Brodie's great frame seemed to shrink imperceptibly; his bellicose eyes became faintly bemused and, in a muddled fashion, he looked at Mary.
"What wha' " he muttered. He raised his eyes uncomprehendingly to Mamma, saw her frantic plight, and again lowered his gaze upon Mary. He paused, whilst his mind grappled with the inconceivable, unfathomable news. Suddenly he shouted,
"Come here!"
Mary obeyed. Each step she took seemed to lower her into her own tomb. Brodie seized her roughly by the arm and looked her up and down. A sickening feeling went through him.
"My God!" he repeated to himself, in a low tone. "My God! I believe it's true. Is it?" he cried thickly. Her tongue lay mutely in her mouth from shame. Still holding her arm, he shook her unmercifully, then, releasing her suddenly, allowed her to recoil heavily upon the floor.
"Are you with child ? Tell me quickly or I'll brain you," he shouted.