THE FAREWELL
The night had fallen upon Eagle House. Arthur sat alone in his bedroom at the open window. A soft wind talked to itself in the branches of the big mulberry tree on the lawn; a few placid stars shone in the blue-black heavens, then the late moon like a yellow fire; a nested sparrow chirped contentedly beneath the eaves; and, like a solemn wash of waves upon a hidden beach, London moaned and murmured through all its vast circumference. Out of the deep night the Spirit of his own Youth arose, and sat beside him.
"Listen to me," said the Spirit. "I bring with me two swords—Faith and Courage. Gird them on."
But London laughed. A soft derision shook the leaves upon the mulberry tree, and the waves upon the hidden beach were scornful.
"You have your life to live. Live it," said the Spirit.
But the stars, like eyes, turned slowly toward him in despairing irony. "How many millions have we heard say that," they whispered, "and each has been overcome in turn, and has sunk in nameless dust."
"You are not as the nameless millions," said the Spirit. "You are yourself, with your own right and power to live."
And at that the heavens moved, and an infinite procession of scarred brows and sad eyes, passed by, and a multitude of lips whispered, "We said that once, but Life was too strong for us."
"Nevertheless, thou canst conquer Life," said the Spirit.
"Nay, Life will conquer thee," replied the legions of the dead. "Let be. Submit. Why strive when all strife is vain?"