One's told so often to think
about death that I've tried it on sometimes, especially this last week.
But we won't talk of it now. I'd better go. You're getting tired, and I
shall do you harm."
"No, no; indeed I ain't, Tom. You must stop till nine; there's only
twenty minutes. I've settled you shall stop till nine. And oh! do let me
talk to you--I must talk to you. I see it's just as I feared. You think
I'm half mad. Don't you, now?"
"Well, I did think it odd what you said, Geordie, as you ask me."
Arthur paused a moment, and then said quickly, "I'll tell you how it all
happened. At first, when I was sent to the sick-room, and found I had
really got the fever, I was terribly frightened. I thought I should
die, and I could not face it for a moment. I don't think it was sheer
cowardice at first, but I thought how hard it was to be taken away from
my mother and sisters and you all, just as I was beginning to see my way
to many things, and to feel that I might be a man and do a man's work.
To die without having fought, and worked, and given one's life away,
was too hard to bear. I got terribly impatient, and accused God of
injustice, and strove to justify myself. And the harder I strove the
deeper I sank. Then the image of my dear father often came across me,
but I turned from it. Whenever it came, a heavy, numbing throb seemed to
take hold of my heart, and say, 'Dead-dead-dead.
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