To die out there--lonely--wanting them--wanting home! This seemed to his

Forsyte heart more painful, more pitiful than death itself. No shelter,

no protection, no love at the last! And all the deeply rooted clanship

in him, the family feeling and essential clinging to his own flesh and

blood which had been so strong in old Jolyon was so strong in all the

Forsytes--felt outraged, cut, and torn by his boy's lonely passing.

Better far if he had died in battle, without time to long for them to

come to him, to call out for them, perhaps, in his delirium!

The moon had passed behind the oak-tree now, endowing it with uncanny

life, so that it seemed watching him--the oak-tree his boy had been so

fond of climbing, out of which he had once fallen and hurt himself, and

hadn't cried!

The door creaked. He saw Irene come in, pick up the telegram and read

it. He heard the faint rustle of her dress. She sank on her knees close

to him, and he forced himself to smile at her. She stretched up her arms

and drew his head down on her shoulder. The perfume and warmth of her

encircled him; her presence gained slowly his whole being.




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