Oh, the interminable waits, the stupidity of porters and booking clerks, the slowness of that short journey from Calais to Dover. I felt as though we had to travel round the world, and yet we accomplished an awkward journey in remarkable time.
At our little station, I found Bauen waiting; but he could give us no reassuring news, the best being that he was still alive.
My mother was in the bedroom when I arrived; and, after kissing her, we stood together, hand in hand, gazing down upon what had been such a magnificent specimen of manhood, but which was now the mere husk of what had been.
He lay without movement, it seemed as though even then he might be dead. As we stood silently, with all our nerves taut and overstrung, I prayed that he might open his eyes once more, and speak to me. I think my prayer was heard, for, just as Mr. Neville came in and stood by us, the dying man's eyes opened, and, perfectly conscious, he tried to smile at Mr. Neville. Then to my mother he murmured two words, full of love and pride, "My wife." When they rested on me, as I stood swallowing down my tears, he said, "Why, Victor, my boy." His eyes closed for a moment, then opened again. "God save your Majesty!" he cried; the next moment he was gone.
Stunned by the suddenness of his departure, I turned to my mother, who was standing quite still, with the tears streaming down her cheeks. I put my arms round her, but she broke away and flung herself down with her arms around the dead man's neck, and cried as though her heart were broken.
Her grief, or rather the greatness of it, surprised me, for in all my life until then I had never seen my mother give way. I had had no idea that her feelings for my stepfather had been so strong; she had always appeared so calm and cold that I had never given her credit for any deep feelings, much as I loved her. Her grief for some time was so overpowering that I could do nothing; but presently, as her sobs grew less racking I took her in my arms and did my poor best to console her. Then little by little she seemed to regain control over herself, and I persuaded her to go to her own room.
I returned to the bed-side, and all alone stood there, indulging my sorrow. I registered a vow, as I gazed down at the now peaceful face, that I would do all that I could to live a life as free from stain as his had been, and to try and act in a way which would have given him pride in me.
I think the three most miserable days of my life were those that followed my stepfather's death. He was buried on the third day. How unhappy I was then, both on account of the loss we had suffered and other things which followed.
Mr. Smith attended the funeral. I felt no surprise at his appearing just before we left the house; it had seemed part of the mystery of my life that he should be there. I did not think of our last meeting, nor of how he could have come so quickly on our tracks, nor did I wonder at the first words I heard him speak to my mother: "It is time."
Usually I should have pondered deeply on such things, but now I was too unhappy.