"Your mother!" he repeated, vacantly. "Ah, yes, of course, she will live on here—unless—but that is all arranged. You need not worry about her."
Inexperienced as I was, I could not help thinking that this was strange. Why should my mother's welfare be dismissed in such a careless way? I could not understand matters. Perhaps, however, everything was privately arranged, and my father did not care to speak before those who were outside our family circle.
I looked at my mother again, but this time her face told no story. Evidently, I was to know nothing about her future, at any rate, for the present.
After this my father grew weaker rapidly, and although he suffered but little pain we knew that his life was fast ebbing away.
What I felt as I sat and watched I cannot describe, for he desired me to remain to the end. Nor will I try and write about the farewell between him and Wilfred, and my sisters, and Ruth. Such scenes are not to be written about; they cannot be. Even now that solemn hour comes back to me, and I try to realise, as I tried to realise then, that my father's spirit went to be with God.
Oh, this mystery of death! It surrounds us all, and yet we understand it not. There we stood talking with him, who was soon to be no more with us—and we knew it. What would become of his spirit? We did not know, we could only hope. Would father become nothing, or would he live on? I could not realise the fact of his death then. I can barely do so now. For one hour my father talked to us. His brain thought, his tongue spoke, his soul felt, the next—he was gone; and yet he was not gone. He lay there, the father I had embraced, and yet he did not lie there. The body could not love, and my father did love me.
After we had sat some time in silence, Mr. Polperrow spoke to my father. He asked him if he felt himself safe for the next world; but father answered him not.
"You have always been a good churchman," continued Mr. Polperrow, "and have always been regular in partaking of the Holy Communion."
My father smiled, I thought sadly, and then he beckoned to me again. He looked as though he had something to tell me—at least, I thought so—and I put my ear close to his mouth. He was now very weak, and spoke with difficulty; but I thought I caught the words:
"Be careful."