The Gentleman: A Romance of the Sea - LightNovelsOnl.com
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"May I see?" begged Kit, fingers at his breast.
"Certainly not," the other replied with his faint chuckle.
"But have they made you comfortable?"
"Quite.... So kind, you English--once you've got your own way. I've been lying here, dreaming and drifting, while the flies buzzed and Sailor on the table there muttered about his Saviour."
The Parson bent over him.
"Sir," he said, "what you must think of me--"
His voice came in gusts.
The other lifted his face.
"Comfort yourself, my friend. In your place I should have done the same."
"I swear to you--" gasped the Parson, broken and blubbering.
The other took his fingers.
"Friend," he said, "you won; but I didn't lose."
The old flicker of swords was in his eyes.
"Defeat can't touch the man who won't admit it. Look at Sailor there! He was impregnable. So am I."
II
A robin sang outside.
The trill fell sweetly on the silence.
The Parson bent above the dying man.
"Is there anything we can do for you, sir?"
The other raised wistful eyes, mischievous a little.
"I should like to pose my last under the stars."
The Parson's mouth twitched. He gathered the other in his arms, easily as a reaper gathers his sheaves.
They left the Sanctuary.
"Come along, Little Chap."
He held out his finger for the boy.
Kit grasped it.
So they pa.s.sed out into the holy evening.
The light streamed from behind dark hills in floods.
As he felt the evening sweet about him, the Gentleman drew a delicious breath.
"The peace of G.o.d that pa.s.seth all understanding," he murmured, and saluted with languid hand.
III
Blob was coming across the greensward towards them.
He was lolling along, both hands tucked in his waist-band, whistling.
Then he looked up, and saw the limp figure with the dangling legs being carried towards him.
He stopped dead, gaping.
The colour left his cheek; his face puckered like a child's making ready to cry.
That helpless man, borne as he had seen babies borne, flashed a light on his twilight mind. For one swift second he saw, as others see, the pathos of things human. A rumour of the world's tragedy pierced to his remote soul; and the pity of it staggered him.
Flinging back his head he thrust out a questioning finger.
"Why?" he wailed.
"That," said the Gentleman as he was carried by, "is the question which Life asks and Death answers. Good-night, Monsieur Moon-calf. Beautiful dreams."
CHAPTER Lx.x.xVII
HIS CAUSE
Half-way up the Wish, in the hollow where yesterday Knapp had stolen upon him, the Parson laid him down.
He lay long-legged, gazing towards the hills, whence came the light.
Beneath him the flint cottage, against which he had broken his strength in vain, rose st.u.r.dily.
"A nice fight, eh, Parson?"
