The inevitable restriction bound the human soul. Reach out as we may toward the infinite, toward what we know is true and real, and indeed concerns us, yet the fact that we are men and women living on this earth and bound bodily by the finite laws of time and space, imposes a similar limitation on the spirit, else it would burst its bonds. And such is the inevitable irony of things, this reaction, this tweak at the rope which binds us to earth, brings about a fall more peremptory and convincing in proportion to the height to which the fluttering soul has soared. And with the cry, “Oh, Edith,” poor Hugh came back to earth with a thump that was unreal perhaps, compared to the realities of which he had just spoken, but was still a terribly good imitation of reality. And as with jugglers some flaming torch is tossed to and fro, never extinguished, but burning ever brighter from its swift passage, so Edith held the light to him now.
“Ah, Hughie,” she said, “you got there, then: you got to the home of our souls. You showed me beautiful things. But it can’t always be equally real to us. There must come discouraging times, times when our patience burns dim, and even hope perhaps burns dim. And it is then, dear, that you will help us both so much just by being yourself, by laughing, by talking nonsense, by being young and foolish. Promise me that you will keep that up.”
The great, grave supreme moment she knew had passed: Hugh had soared up to give to this dreadful blow that had come upon him and her the welcome which was worthiest of him, and she was wise to remind him, though indeed he knew it, that it was impossible to expect that he could remain always in those high places. Reaction, despondency, even despair, was sure to come to them, and the full realisation of things as he had seen them then was not always at hand: the open vision could not stand open always. But the brave little weapons of every day were there.
She looked at him gravely.
“Promise me that,” she repeated.
“I will do my best,” he said.
“And that is very good, dear. Why, Hughie, it is nearly two! I must go to bed at once, and so must you.”
But she still held his hands in hers.
“Thank you, my darling, for Tristan to-night,” she said, “and thank you for the huge success you made of my little treat. Thank you for love, dear, and your courage, and—and all that you are to me, which no tongue can tell.”
She paused a moment.