I remain yours ever the same,
George.
In a day or two a second blind spot appeared, and now the doctors took a very serious view of his case. Life and sight alike were threatened, and instant rest and quiet were ordered. For about three weeks he remained in bed, until the extreme pulse tension was reduced, and then it seemed as if hope might be entertained of years of life, if only care were taken about diet, and work, and thought.
Now began the two years of quiet, steadfast, endurance; no one could realise from his quiet manner and cheerful talk how great was the inconvenience caused by the affection of his eyes, no one ever found him anything but unselfish and gentle. The one difficulty was to persuade him not to work, and this was almost impossible. He was almost feverishly anxious to finish his book, to work out experiments he had been planning; and as time went on, and he thought and pondered as he had ever done on the ultimate mysteries of life and being, other books were planned, other courses of reading mapped out.
Just then a letter came from Canon Scott-Holland which much touched the recipient.
Mr. Holland writes:
'I hear sad news of you through Philip Waggett.[97] You have passed under the sorest trial perhaps that could have been laid on your courage, your hopefulness, your peace.
I trust, indeed, that there is much to look for yet of recovered power and renewed work, but, for the moment, there must be anxiety, and the bitter strain of disappointment, and the rough curb of pain. You are assured of the deep sympathy of many warmhearted friends to whom you have always shown most generous kindness, and I venture to rank myself among them. We shall remember you often and anxiously.
It is a tremendous moment when first one is called upon to join the great army of those who suffer.
That vast world of love and pain opens suddenly to admit us one by one within its fortress.