“To be quite unregardful of it, I suppose. But a bodily state may prevent it.”
Julia leaned forward and put her hand on her husband’s. She loved him less than she loved her sons, but wished to be and to seem a devoted wife. He accepted what she gave, knowing she gave what she could, knowing he gave no more. His brother had always been the centre of his life.
He waited for Julia and her sons to withdraw, and then turned to Sir Edwin.
“How poor a thing human feeling seems, to anyone forced to test it! And how strong the love of the things that last our life! I feel I have only just known it.”
“We have had our help today.”
“Well, nothing can last any longer. It is natural to want them at their time. My boy is more open than many people. He shows the feelings they try to hide. It may not prove they are so deep.”
“It shows that he is not. And we must take him as he is, as people say. As if we had the choice!”
“Though my life is ending, yours is not. The future is in no one’s hands. And he imagines it in his.”
“Yes, for him his place is not the best.”
“It is the one he would choose, the one you would have chosen. You have never regretted having it. We talk of its snares, but other lives have them. And they are met more often.”
“Walter thinks he will avoid them. I suppose you must let him choose his path?”
“We should be glad he has made a choice. We cannot give him many. We must accept the difference in the lives of my sons, as they accept it.”
“I hope their friendship will stand it, as ours has done. Having that, they cannot have nothing. We have not had it. But would your wife have done better in a life that asked more of her?”
“None of us escapes demands. She has not done so. She would hardly wish she had had more. We need not wish it for her. I am not in a mood to exalt demands. My last and longest is upon me.”
“And upon me too. I am to live without you, Hamish, in a sense to die alone. No one will meet it with me. There the fault may be yours and mine. I shall carry you with me, consult you in the questions that arise. I know you enough to know what you would say. I shall say it to myself for you. But the silence of your voice will be silence for me. It is a thing that you will not suffer. Is that someone outside the door? Are your two lads listening?”
“If so, they have gained little. And nothing that would serve them.”
“Their concern is not the end of our lives, but the beginning of their own. Though Walter may have thought we were occupied with his failings.”
Walter had feared this, and had taken a position that would enlighten him. As his brother passed with a smile of connivance, he beckoned him to his side.
“Are they talking of you?” said Simon.
“No, of themselves. It is strange that I was not in their thoughts.”
“What were they saying?”
“Noble things to each other about life and death. I wish I had not listened. I really had a right to hear no good of myself. And I heard so much good of them, that I shall never be at ease with them again.”
“Did you not hear anything of us?”
“Only words of gentle acceptance of what we are. And I did not know they knew. They see us with open eyes, as we see them. And that is a shock.”
“We don’t seem to have seen the whole of them.”
“Well, I have seen it now. Or I hope it is the whole. I hardly think there can be any more.”
“Anyhow we will not find it out,” said Simon.
“And I was confused by their not talking about my debts. I did not think of other things being in their thoughts. It might almost seem that my being in debt did not matter.”
“Or that you did not,” said Simon, laughing. “So they did not mention them?”
“Well, they heard me outside the door and guessed I thought they would be doing so. And they were not, which was humbling for me. I could rise above that, but they knew it was humbling; and from that I turn my eyes.”
“You might have got more into debt, if you had known.”
“Or I might not have done so at all. I did not know it was not a serious thing.”
“Well, it is not, compared to Father’s health. They must think first of that.”
“That will do, Simon. I am brought low.”
“It is not a good prospect for either.”
“I wish it did not bring out the best in them. The best in people causes me such discomfort. And I hardly think it does much for anyone. It is difficult to see what good it is.”
“I daresay you would not mind it in yourself.”
“There is none in me,” said Walter. “When I tried to find some to correspond with theirs, I found nothing but natural, human feelings.”
“Perhaps you are none the worse for that.”
“Yes, I am much worse.”
“I suppose our friendship is an echo of theirs to them. And they hope it will serve us as well.”
“It would have been no good for you to listen. You may be more like them than they know.”
“They certainly do not know,” said Simon, laughing.
“Ought we to promise faithfulness, as Uncle did?”
“I promise it,” said Simon.
“So do I. So now we are equal to them, though they do not suspect it. Perhaps it adds to us to be a little misunderstood.”
“It is a pity they don’t know they are adding to us, when they would think it so desirable.”
“Simon, I did like the serious note underlying your promise. Perhaps we are more than equal to them.”
“To your father and uncle?” said Julia, passing through the hall. “You can only do your best to reach their level.”
“We have reached it,” said Walter. “You were not in time to hear.”
“Walter, our lenience about your debts does not mean we are not troubled by them.”
“No, Mater, of course it makes me regret them more.”
“And you need not regard me as too simple a person.”
“How could I, when it is known that sons take after their mothers?”
“You will turn over a new leaf, like my good son,” said Julia, as she went her way.
“Yes, I hope you will do so, Walter,” said Sir Edwin, coming out of the dining-room. “We do not talk of your troubles—“
“I know you do not, Uncle.”
“As things are, they will be your affair more than ours.”
“I wish people would talk of Walter’s troubles,” said Simon. “When they don’t, they seem a recurring topic.”
“One more word, Walter. I need only say it once. You are old to listen at doors.”
“I don’t think I am old enough, Uncle. For contact with the depths of life.”
“Neither is anyone,” said Hamish. “I try to forget I am involved in them. You must do the same.”
“I think they have done so,” said Sir Edwin. “They must expect us sometimes to remember.”
Walter looked after the older men.
“It is terrible to meet selfless courage and try to be worthy of such a father. And in a way it is easier for him. He only has to feel that his sons are not equal to him. And there may be a shred of comfort there.”
“I don’t think we are less intelligent than he is.”
“Simon, pride of intellect is not in place.”
“Very few things are. And being in debt is hardly one of them. Of course I am not talking of your troubles.”
“I shall have to remain in it. I cannot ask Father about such things, when he is on the brink of eternity.”
“Put the bills on Mater’s table. I daresay she will pay them. She likes to be trusted.”
“I am glad to cause her pleasure. I will give her my full trust.”
“Do you really think that Father will live to eternity?”
“Of course I do not. I should be as ashamed of it, as you would. I meant an eternity of nothingness, which was a good thing to mean. It almost seems you might mean something else. I admire Father for quietly facing extinction. I see nothing in facing eternity, when we should all like to so much.”