"I think," she said as
she rose, "that we had better go to bed."
"I suppose so," he said. "Wait a moment. Your aunt told me that I had
better go where there was war--she could not have guessed that I have
lived for months with that temptation. I shall end by accepting a
command. Now since her reproach I shall feel that war offers the bribe of
ease and relief from care."
"I know, the call of duty--you will have to go. But, oh, my God! it is
very terrible."
"The fact is, this sudden good fortune for a time so set me at ease that
I lost sight of my honest craving for action. Now I ought to thank Ann
for making me see what I ought to do--must do. But how--how? It will
clear up somehow. Goodnight."
It was the end of March before McGregor told Penhallow that Mrs.
Penhallow insisted on seeing him. "Now, Squire," he said, "you will be
shocked at her appearance, but she is really well in body, and this thing
has got to be set at rest. She talks of it incessantly."
Penhallow entered the dimly lighted room and passed his old nurse, Mrs.
Lamb, as she whispered, "Don't stay long, sir." He was shocked as he won
clearer vision in the dim light.
"Oh, James!" she said, "they wouldn't let me see you. Open the shutters."
He obeyed, and kneeling kissed the wasted face he loved so well.
Pages:
393
394
395
396
397
398
399
400
401
402
403
404
405
406
407
408
409
410
411
412
413
414
415
416
417