"Phineas,we have known one another these forty years.Is our love,our faith,so small,that either of us,for himself or his brother,need be afraid of death?--""Phineas!"--and the second time he spoke there was some faint reproach in the tone;"no one knows this but you.I see I was right to hesitate;I almost wish I had not told you at all."Then I rose.
At my urgent request,he explained to me fully and clearly the whole truth.It was,as most truths are,less terrible when wholly known.
It had involved little suffering as yet,the paroxysms being few and rare.They had always occurred when he was alone,or when feeling them coming on he could go away and bear them in solitude.
"I have always been able to do so until to-night.She has not the least idea--my wife,I mean."His voice failed.
"It has been terrible to me at times,the thought of my wife.
Perhaps I ought to have told her.Often I resolved I would,and then changed my mind.Latterly,since she has been ill,I have believed,almost hoped,that she would not need to be told at all.""Would you rather,then,that she--"
John calmly took up the word I shrank from uttering."Yes;I would rather of the two that she went away first.She would suffer less,and it would be such a short parting."He spoke as one would speak of a new abode,an impending journey.To him the great change,the last terror of humanity,was a thought--solemn indeed,but long familiar and altogether without fear.And,as we sat there,something of his spirit passed into mine;I felt how narrow is the span between the life mortal and the life immortal--how,in truth,both are one with God.
"Ay,"he said,"that is exactly what I mean.To me there is always something impious in the 'preparing for death'that people talk about;as if we were not continually,whether in the flesh or out of it,living in the Father's presence;as if,come when He will,the Master should not find all of us watching?Do you remember saying so to me,one day?"Ah,that day!
"Does it pain you,my talking thus?Because if so,we will cease.""No--go on."
"That is right.I thought,this attack having been somewhat worse than my last,some one ought to be told.It has been a comfort to me to tell you--a great comfort,Phineas.Always remember that."I have remembered it.
"Now,one thing more,and my mind is at ease.You see,though I may have years of life--I hope I shall--many busy years--I am never sure of a day,and I have to take many precautions.At home I shall be quite safe now."He smiled again,with evident relief."And rarely I go anywhere without having one of my boys with me.Still,for fear--look here."He showed me his pocket-book;on a card bearing his name and address was written in his own legible hand,"HOME,AND TELL MY WIFECAREFULLY."
I returned the book.As I did so,there dropped out a little note--all yellow and faded--his wife's only "love-letter,"--signed,"Yours sincerely,Ursula March."John picked it up,looked at it,and put it back in its place.
"Poor darling!poor darling!"He sighed,and was silent for a while.
"I am very glad Guy has come home;very glad that my little Maud is so happily settled.Hark!how those children are laughing!"For the moment a natural shade of regret crossed the father's face,the father to whom all the delights of home had been so dear.But it soon vanished.
"How merry they are!--how strangely things have come about for us and ours!As Ursula was saying to-night,at this moment we have not a single care."I grasped at that,for Dr.K--had declared that if John had a quiet life--a life without many anxieties--he might,humanly speaking,attain a good old age.
"Ay,your father did.Who knows?we may both be old men yet,Phineas."And as he rose,he looked strong in body and mind,full of health and cheer--scarcely even on the verge of that old age of which he spoke.
And I was older than he.
"Now,will you come with me to say good-night to the children?"At first I thought I could not--then,I could.After the rest had merrily dispersed,John and I stood for a long time in the empty parlour,his hand on my shoulder,as he used to stand when we were boys,talking.
What we said I shall not write,but I remember it,every word.And he--I KNOW he remembers it still.
Then we clasped hands.
"Good-night,Phineas."
"Good-night,John."