Saint's Progress. Galsworthy John

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СКАЧАТЬ and white, in the hospital wards, had just been a show. Death would appear to her for the first time, if this face which she loved were to be drained for ever of light and colour and movement and meaning.

      A humblebee from the Square Garden boomed in and buzzed idly round the room. She caught her breath in a little sob…

      2

      Pierson received that telegram at midday, returning from a lonely walk after his talk with Thirza. Coming from Gratian so self-reliant – it meant the worst. He prepared at once to catch the next train. Noel was out, no one knew where: so with a sick feeling he wrote:

      “DEAREST CHILD,

      “I am going up to Gratian; poor George is desperately ill. If it goes badly you should be with your sister. I will wire to-morrow morning early. I leave you in your aunt’s hands, my dear. Be reasonable and patient. God bless you.

      “Your devoted

      “DADDY.”

      He was alone in his third-class compartment, and, leaning forward, watched the ruined Abbey across the river till it was out of sight. Those old monks had lived in an age surely not so sad as this. They must have had peaceful lives, remote down here, in days when the Church was great and lovely, and men laid down their lives for their belief in her, and built everlasting fanes to the glory of God! What a change to this age of rush and hurry, of science, trade, material profit, and this terrible war! He tried to read his paper, but it was full of horrors and hate. ‘When will it end?’ he thought. And the train with its rhythmic jolting seemed grinding out the answer: “Never – never!”

      At Chepstow a soldier got in, followed by a woman with a very flushed face and curious, swimmy eyes; her hair was in disorder, and her lip bleeding, as if she had bitten it through. The soldier, too, looked strained and desperate. They sat down, far apart, on the seat opposite. Pierson, feeling that he was in their way, tried to hide himself behind his paper; when he looked again, the soldier had taken off his tunic and cap and was leaning out of the window. The woman, on the seat’s edge, sniffing and wiping her face, met his glance with resentful eyes, then, getting up, she pulled the man’s sleeve.

      “Sit dahn; don’t ‘ang out o’ there.”

      The soldier flung himself back on the seat and looked at Pierson.

      “The wife an’ me’s ‘ad a bit of a row,” he said companionably. “Gits on me nerves; I’m not used to it. She was in a raid, and ‘er nerves are all gone funny; ain’t they, old girl? Makes me feel me ‘ead. I’ve been wounded there, you know; can’t stand much now. I might do somethin’ if she was to go on like this for long.”

      Pierson looked at the woman, but her eyes still met his resentfully. The soldier held out a packet of cigarettes. “Take one,” he said. Pierson took one and, feeling that the soldier wanted him to speak, murmured: “We all have these troubles with those we’re fond of; the fonder we are of people, the more we feel them, don’t we? I had one with my daughter last night.”

      “Ah!” said the soldier; “that’s right. The wife and me’ll make it up. ‘Ere, come orf it, old girl.”

      From behind his paper he soon became conscious of the sounds of reconciliation – reproaches because someone had been offered a drink, kisses mixed with mild slappings, and abuse. When they got out at Bristol the soldier shook his hand warmly, but the woman still gave him her resentful stare, and he thought dreamily: ‘The war! How it affects everyone!’ His carriage was invaded by a swarm of soldiers, and the rest of the journey was passed in making himself small. When at last he reached home, Gratian met him in the hall.

      “Just the same. The doctor says we shall know in a few hours now. How sweet of you to come! You must be tired, in this heat. It was dreadful to spoil your holiday.”

      “My dear! As if – May I go up and see him?”

      George Laird was still lying in that stupor. And Pierson stood gazing down at him compassionately. Like most parsons, he had a wide acquaintance with the sick and dying; and one remorseless fellowship with death. Death! The commonest thing in the world, now – commoner than life! This young doctor must have seen many die in these last two years, saved many from death; and there he lay, not able to lift a finger to save himself. Pierson looked at his daughter; what a strong, promising young couple they were! And putting his arm round her, he led her away to the sofa, whence they could see the sick man.

      “If he dies, Dad – ” she whispered.

      “He will have died for the Country, my love, as much as ever our soldiers do.”

      “I know; but that’s no comfort. I’ve been watching here all day; I’ve been thinking; men will be just as brutal afterwards – more brutal. The world will go on the same.”

      “We must hope not. Shall we pray, Gracie?”

      Gratian shook her head.

      “If I could believe that the world – if I could believe anything! I’ve lost the power, Dad; I don’t even believe in a future life. If George dies, we shall never meet again.”

      Pierson stared at her without a word.

      Gratian went on: “The last time we talked, I was angry with George because he laughed at my belief; now that I really want belief, I feel that he was right.”

      Pierson said tremulously:

      “No, no, my dear; it’s only that you’re overwrought. God in His mercy will give you back belief.”

      “There is no God, Dad”

      “My darling child, what are you saying?”

      “No God who can help us; I feel it. If there were any God who could take part in our lives, alter anything without our will, knew or cared what we did – He wouldn’t let the world go on as it does.”

      “But, my dear, His purposes are inscrutable. We dare not say He should not do this or that, or try to fathom to what ends He is working.”

      “Then He’s no good to us. It’s the same as if He didn’t exist. Why should I pray for George’s life to One whose ends are just His own? I know George oughtn’t to die. If there’s a God who can help, it will be a wicked shame if George dies; if there’s a God who can help, it’s a wicked shame when babies die, and all these millions of poor boys. I would rather think there’s no God than a helpless or a wicked God – ”

      Her father had suddenly thrown up his hands to his ears. She moved closer, and put her arm round him.

      “Dad dear, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

      Pierson pressed her face down to his shoulder; and said in a dull voice:

      “What do you think would have happened to me, Gracie, if I had lost belief when your mother died? I have never lost belief. Pray God I never shall!”

      Gratian murmured:

      “George would not wish me to pretend I believe – he would want me to be honest. If I’m not honest, I shan’t deserve that he should live. I don’t believe, and I can’t pray.”

      “My darling, you’re overtired.”

      “No, Dad.” She raised her head from his shoulder and, clasping her hands round her knees, looked СКАЧАТЬ