Again it seemed to him that his father smiled on him. He was sure he saw the quiet humour in his eyes which he remembered so well.
Bob was in a strange humour that night. The day had been eventful beyond all the days of his life. He had entered into a happiness of which he had never dreamed before; he had seen visions of the future of which hitherto he had been blind. He had been carried away by his love and his enthusiasm; his nature had been moved to its depths. Now the memory of it all, the quietness of the house, caused thoughts to come to his mind, and moved him to feelings to which he had been a stranger.
"It's what you would wish me to do, father, isn't it?" he still continued aloud. "To go into Parliament, and then work and fight for the peace of the world? To destroy the ghastly nightmare of war, to fight against the War-god, to put an end to this eternal making of implements of death. I have your consent, and your blessing, haven't I?"
Yes, he was sure his father was smiling on him, and giving him his blessing. There was something sacred, holy, in the thought.
He turned out the lights, but the beams of the moon streamed through the window, and rested on the picture.
"Good night, father," he said. "I'll try to be a true man," and then he left the room, feeling as if indeed he had been talking to his father.
"Is that you, Bob?"
He was passing his mother's bedroom door, as the words reached his ears.
"Yes, mother. I thought you would have been asleep hours ago."
"No, I couldn't sleep till I heard you come in. Come in, and kiss me good night."