"Mother! don't cry--Mother!"
Some hours later, when all was done that had to be, and his mother was
lying down, he saw his father alone, on the bed, covered with a white
sheet. He stood for a long time gazing at that face which had never
looked angry--always whimsical, and kind. "To be kind and keep your end
up--there's nothing else in it," he had once heard his father say. How
wonderfully Dad had acted up to that philosophy! He understood now
that his father had known for a long time past that this would come
suddenly--known, and not said a word. He gazed with an awed and
passionate reverence. The loneliness of it--just to spare his mother and
himself! His own trouble seemed small while he was looking at that face.
The word scribbled on the page! The farewell word! Now his mother had no
one but himself! He went up close to the dead face--not changed at all,
and yet completely changed. He had heard his father say once that he did
not believe in consciousness surviving death, or that if it did it
might be just survival till the natural age limit of the body had been
reached--the natural term of its inherent vitality; so that if the body
were broken by accident, excess, violent disease, consciousness might
still persist till, in the course of Nature uninterfered with, it would
naturally have faded out. It had struck him because he had never heard
any one else suggest it. When the heart failed like this--surely it was
not quite natural! Perhaps his father's consciousness was in the room
with him. Above the bed hung a picture of his father's father. Perhaps
his consciousness, too, was still alive; and his brother's--his
half-brother, who had died in the Transvaal. Were they all gathered
round this bed? Jon kissed the forehead, and stole back to his own room.
The door between it and his mother's was ajar; she had evidently been
in--everything was ready for him, even some biscuits and hot milk, and
the letter no longer on the floor. He ate and drank, watching the last
light fade. He did not try to see into the future--just stared at the
dark branches of the oak-tree, level with his window, and felt as if
life had stopped. Once in the night, turning in his heavy sleep, he was
conscious of something white and still, beside his bed, and started up.
His mother's voice said:
"It's only I, Jon dear!" Her hand pressed his forehead gently back; her
white figure disappeared.
Alone! He fell heavily asleep again, and dreamed he saw his mother's
name crawling on his bed.