“Yes, mother.”
She was no longer wandering back to the early years, but remembered what had happened.
“It’s terrible about Digby.”
“Yes, mother.”
She was silent for a little while, and then spoke again.
“Bertram! Work for Peace. The world is so very cruel, and the future so dark! Work for peace, my dear. Peace is so beautiful. Promise me.”
“Promise you what, mother?”
She drew his head down with her weak hands, and as he kissed her, he heard her whisper the word “Peace.”
That was the last word he heard his mother speak. The nurse came, and the doctor, and his father was sent for from the House of Commons, where there was a debate on the Coal Strike, as Bertram saw by the next day’s papers. It was at some time past midnight that his father came downstairs and entered his study, where Bertram was sitting, waiting for the doctor’s latest word about his mother’s health.
“Is she better?” he asked.