Читать «Cup of Gold (Золотая чаша)» онлайн - страница 120

Some old jungle fever, perhaps. I could bleed him again, I suppose, but we have taken a great deal of blood already, and it seems to do no good. However, if he begins to sink, I shall try it again."

"Then he will die?" Lady Morgan asked. Henry thought she showed more curiosity than sorrow.

"Yes, he will die unless God intervenes. Only God can be sure of his patients."

And then the room was cleared of people. Henry knew that his wife was sitting near the bed. He could hear her crying softly beside him. "What a pity it is," he thought, "that I cannot go to death in a ship so she might pack my bag for me. It would give her so much satisfaction to know that I was entering heaven with a decent supply of clean linen."

"Oh, my husband-Oh, Henry, my husband."

He turned his head and looked at her curiously, and his gaze went deep into her eyes. Suddenly he was seized with despair.

"This woman loves me," he said to himself. "This woman loves me, and I have never known it. I cannot know this kind of love. Her eyes-her eyes-this is something far beyond my comprehension. Can she have loved me always?" He looked again. "She is very near to God. I think women are nearer to God than men. They cannot talk about it, but, Christ! how it shines in their eyes. And she loves me. During all her hectoring and badgering and browbeating, she has loved me-and I have never known it. But what would I have done if I had known it?" He turned away. This sorrow was too great, too burning and awful to regard. It is terrifying to see a woman's soul shining through her eyes.

So he was to die. It was rather pleasant if death was like this. He was warm and very tired. Presently he would fall asleep, and that would be death-Brother Death.

He knew that some other person had come into the room. His wife leaned over until she came within his up-staring vision. She would be annoyed if she knew he could turn his head if he wished.

"The Vicar, dear," his wife said. "Do be nice to him. Oh, do listen to him! It may help you-afterwards."

Ah, she was practical! She was going to see that some compact was made with the Almighty if she could. Her affection was an efficient thing, but her love-that which glittered in her wet eyes-was frightful.

Henry felt a warm, soft hand take his. A soothing voice was talking to him. But it was difficult to listen.

The ceiling was swaying dangerously.

"God is Love," the voice was saying. "You must put your faith in God."

"God is Love," Henry repeated mechanically.

"Let us pray," said the voice.

Suddenly Henry remembered a moment of his childhood.

He was being tortured with an earache, and his mother was holding him in her arms. She stroked his wrist with her finger tips. "This is all nonsense," she was saying. He remembered how she said it. "This is all nonsense. God is Love. He will not let little boys suffer. Now repeat after me-'The Lord is my shepherd. I shall not want.' " It was as though she administered a medicine. In the same tone she would have commanded, "Come, take this oil!"