"I beg your pardon, sir, but you are not going out, are you?"
I had not thought of it, but his words caused me to determine to go for a walk.
"Yes, Simpson, I am," I replied.
"Shall I go with you, sir?"
"No, thank you, Simpson, I will go alone."
"Excuse me, sir, but are you not foolish? Walking in the night might do you harm, sir; it might shorten your days."
"What does that matter?" I asked. "As the end is so near, of what consequence are a few days, or, for that matter, weeks? The sooner I die, the sooner I shall solve the great mystery of the Beyond, if there is a Beyond; if there isn't, what have I to live for here?"
"I beg your pardon, sir, I am very sorry." And Simpson sighed.
I put on a light overcoat, and made my way to the highest point of the cliffs. Beneath me, far down, perhaps three or four hundred feet, the waves rolled on the black, rugged rocks. As I looked seaward, the water, as it seemed to me, became darker and darker. The lines of foam, which stretched along by the coast, became more and more distinct. Night had now fallen. The sky was star-spangled. I had never seen such a sky in England before. Once or twice down by the Mediterranean I had seen something similar, but never in my own country. I felt as though invisible presences were near me, as though they were trying to speak to me; but I could not understand the language.
Unmindful of consequences, I sat down on the heather, and gave myself up to fancy. I tried to pierce the veil which hung between me and the Beyond. I tried to understand the meaning of the far-off voices which were wafted to me by the night breezes. I wanted to read the riddle of Life and Death.