“Business is booming, my dear old lady; I shall close down, and we will all depart. You have been in Burma too long, but in six months we shall be aboard the mail boat and watch the gold Pagoda gradually sinking out of sight. I shall take a handsome place in the neighbourhood of Frankfort, and entertain all my good friends. Then we will make music, and eat, drink, and be merry.”
His talk was invariably in this hopeful strain; he never exhibited the least anxiety with regard to his wife’s illness; it had become her normal condition, and he spoke of it as “that confounded neuralgia” and cursed the Burmese climate.
Sophy listened and marvelled, and yet she herself had been equally dense. Neuralgia covers various infirmities, just as the cloak of charity covers a multitude of sins. She had become excessively sensitive and suspicious, a sort of domestic detective—a post that was by no means to her taste. She had thought long and earnestly over the situation, and from her reflections emerged the solid word “Duty.” It was her duty to fight for her aunt, to contend against the demon drug—and fight she did. Oh, if she could only maintain the struggle until her charge was en route home, what a victory!
Mrs. Krauss never alluded to her illness—a remarkable contrast to many invalids; but one afternoon, as Sophy sat beside her in the dimly-lit lounge, she suddenly broke an unusually long silence:
“Life is very difficult, Sophy, my dear; death is easy, and I shall soon know all about it.”
“Oh, Aunt Flo, why do you say this?”
“Because, before long, I shall die. Karl is full of great plans and talks of our wonderful future. I see no future for myself in Europe; I shall remain behind when you and he go down the Irrawaddy—but I am not afraid. On the contrary, I look forward.”
“As for death, I hope you are mistaken, Aunt Flora, but I confess that yours is a most enviable frame of mind.”
“It is, dear, I suppose, from living so long in the East, I have imbibed some of the people’s ideas. In all the world these Burmans cannot be matched for their radiant cheerfulness—they make the best of the present, and, as they say, ‘merely die to live again.’ There is not one of them who does not believe in and speak of his past life, and look forward to a future existence; this is why they wear such an air of happiness and contentment.”
“And do you really believe there is anything in this comfortable faith, Aunt Flora?”