8.30. The nurse says he will not live through the night.
8.45. Telegraphed for A—— to come.
11.00. A—— came downstairs and had a little supper.
12.00. Went to bed. H—— and the others lit a fire and we have all sat around it silent, listening to its murmur. Every one felt cold. Dad has been unconscious for over an hour.
1.45 a.m. Heard a noise, then heard Mother coming downstairs past my bedroom door with some one—sobbing. I knew it must be all over. H——was helping her down. Waited in my bedroom in the dark for three parts of an hour, when H—— came up, opened the door slowly and said, "He's gone, old man." It was a tremendous relief to know that since he had to die his sufferings and cruel plight were over. Fell asleep from sheer exhaustion and slept soundly.
September 18.
The funeral. It is not death but the dreadful possibilities of life which are so depressing.[2]
September 21.
A Day in Autumn
A cool, breezy autumn day. The beach was covered with patches of soapy foam that shook tremulously in the wind—all the rocks and everything were drenched with water, and the spray came off the breaking waves like steam. A red sun went lower and lower and the shadows cast by the rocks grew very long and grotesque. Underneath the breaking waves, the hollows were green and dark like sea caverns. Herring gulls played about in the air balancing themselves as they faced the breeze, then sweeping suddenly around and downwards with the wind behind them. We all sat down on the rocks and were very quiet, almost monosyllabic. We pointed out a passing vessel to one another or chucked a bit of shingle into the sea. You would have said we were bored. Yet deep down in ourselves we were astir and all around us we could hear the rumours of divine passage, soft and mysterious as the flight of birds migrating in the dark.