"Yes, my eldest son; both were in the Army. One is still alive, thank God; but Ned, my boy Ned——" Then for a moment he broke down, his whole body trembling violently. He recovered himself in a few seconds, however.
"I do not complain," he said. "In a way I am proud."
"I think I understand," was my reply.
"I shall never be the same man again," he went on. "It seems as though a part of my life is buried with him, away in that little French cemetery; but at this moment there is no prouder man in England than I. My son, my eldest son, has given his life for honor, for truth, for God."
He spoke like a man inspired. Every word was weighted with a new meaning.
"I don't know why I came to you," he went on. "I received the news days ago, and ever since, ever since...." Then he stopped. There was a far-away look in his eyes.
"You have my deepest sympathy, Mr. Trelaske," I said. "Words are poor at a time like this——"
"No," he interrupted, "words are not poor, when they convey what the heart feels. I rather resented it when my son expressed the desire to go into the Army. I fully expected it of Harry, my second son, and had had him educated with that object in view; but it has always been a tradition in our family for generations that one of the sons should go into the Church. But he would not fall in with my wishes; he was not fit, he said, and he wanted to be a soldier. The living here belongs to our family, has belonged to it for more than a hundred years. Now I know it ought not to have belonged to us."
"Why?" I asked.
"The Church," he replied, "has been but little more than a name to me, the vocation of a clergyman I have regarded as little more than a profession; that is why—why...." He stopped, as if unable to express the thought in his mind. "'What is the use of my becoming a parson?' said Ned to me. 'I have nothing to say to the people. How can I tell the chaps whom I have fought with, shot with, played cards with, about their souls, about God and about heaven?' I argued with him. I told him that when a man was ordained a priest his ordination gave him priestly rights. But he would have none of it, and insisted upon going into the Army. As I said, I was grieved and angry; but now I know that he served his God more truly than I, for what I have done has lacked a great conviction. I have looked upon my profession as—as a profession; but he, he gave his life for his country, and for truth, and for God. Perhaps he did not say so in so many words, perhaps he did not even think of it, but that is what he did; and I am proud—oh, I am proud. He died a hero, too."