Stephen plunged into an explanation. To be conducted back to the passion of his life was all that was needed to complete his happiness. He spoke rapidly, his hand still clasping her arm. He was old enough to appreciate the value of a companion moulded by one's self. His thoughts were clear; he saw even farther into the subject than he did yesterday. She was not only companionable, she was inspiring, she was essential to his well-being—he would never, he said to himself, give her up. Youth, ah, he could win it back!
CHAPTER XXVIII
FETZER'S EYE IS OPENED
During the short spring vacation Ellen went with Miss Grammer to visit Niagara Falls. Stephen thought with satisfaction of Miss Grammer, placing her in the same class with Miss Knowlton and Miss MacVane, whom he admired and pitied and with whom he liked to work.
He suggested that Ellen should spend the summer with Fetzer in his absence. He had begun to believe, by a strange and childish variety of logic, that if he did not attempt to see her he would receive a reward, the nature of which was clearly defined in his thoughts. It would have been the height of cruelty to wish that Hilda should survive; it would be the height of absurdity to pretend that her death could bring anything but relief. He had pretended even to himself for many years, and for a still longer term to others; now he would be frank with himself at least. If Hilda died, he could marry Ellen Levis; rather, when Hilda died, he would marry Ellen. He did not believe that Hilda's life could be prolonged beyond a few years.
In May he went abroad to a meeting of ophthalmists. He was to be one of many speakers, and he became, with the first paragraph of his address, the chief speaker. Conscious of his triumph, he believed that he had succeeded because he was intensely happy, or, rather, because he anticipated intense happiness.
Afterwards, sitting in a café, he watched the passers-by. There was but one real happiness in the world and that was to be his. To have Ellen with him, vivifying his days and filling his nights with peace—no man could ask for more.
When he reached his hotel he found a cablegram awaiting him. He connected it foolishly with the mood from whose influence he had not yet passed; he believed that his happiness was premonitory and he tore open the envelope with a shaking hand. It could bring but one message; he experienced in anticipation as he unfolded the sheet the inevitable shock which the announcement of death brings, even a death long expected and desired.