‘Every one is dying. Who will be left alive? Young people died in the War, and old people now it is over.’
And there was another funeral in the little Yearsly church, and a tablet for Cousin John, on the wall, near the tablet for Hugo.
Now Guy and Diana were to move to Yearsly. Cousin Delia would not stay there, though Guy had asked her to.
She said:
‘It would not do, it would not do for Diana.’
And so she packed her things, and I went and stayed with her, and helped her pack. I took John with me; he was three years old then, and he played in the fields at Yearsly, as Hugo used to play. We went through all the things, Cousin Delia and I. We sorted out the cupboards, and the drawers, and the boxes of letters. It had all to be left in order for Diana to take it over.
‘I hope she will care for the place,’ Cousin Delia said. ‘I hope she will get to love it, in time, as I have loved it.’
We were both thinking of Hugo, and how she had not known him, and how to us he was there in every place and thing.
I was with her there, for a week. It was in October, and the trees in the High Wood were red and bright, like flames. I have never seen the trees so bright as they were then.
I went and walked in the wood, the last day I was there. I went and sat down on the leaves, beside the Happy Tree. The tree trunks stood out clear in the spaces of the wood, grey and distinct against the flaming leaves, and the sun was shining down through the brilliant leaves and underfoot as well, the ground was red, and shining, and I felt, suddenly, that beauty was still alive. It was like a flare of trumpets or a shout of triumph.