I don't feel just
now as if anything in the world could make up for this--as if
anything could make it seem just to endure such misery. What has
one done to deserve it?"
"What indeed?" said Mrs. Graves, "because the time will come when
you will ask that in a different sense. Don't you see, dear boy,
that even this is life's fulness? One mustn't be afraid of
suffering--what one must be afraid of is NOT suffering; it's the
measure of love--you would not part with your love if that would
free you from suffering?"
"No," said Howard slowly, "I would not--you are right. I can see
that. One brings the other; but I cannot see the need of it."
"That is only because one does not realise how much lies ahead,"
said Mrs. Graves. "Be content that you know at least how much you
love--there's no knowledge like that!"
XXXIV
THE DREAM-CHILD
For some days Howard was in an intolerable agony of mind about
Maud; she lay in a sort of stupor of weakness and weariness,
recognising no one, hardly speaking, just alive, indifferent to
everything. They could not let him be with her, they would allow no
one to speak to her. The shock had been too great, and the frail
life seemed flickering to its close: once or twice he was just
allowed to see her; she lay like a tired child, her head on her
hand, lost in incommunicable dreams. Howard dared not leave the
house, and the tension of his nerves became so acute that the least
thing--a servant entering the room, or anyone coming out to speak
with him as he paced up and down the garden--caused him an
insupportable horror; had they come to summon him to see the end?
The frightful thing was the silence, the blank silence of the one
he loved best.
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