Philip Van Doren Stern (ed) (83 page)

"I doubt, I doubt now our getting
anything," he whispered lower
than before, and the voice made me think of ice. "He'll wake of
course, right enough, but—but he'll leave us before he can—speak.
Leave finally I mean," his voice breaking queerly. "Just pay his debt
and go before we can get a word. The debt—twenty-five years—
twenty-five stolen years. Taken from here, they can only be repaid
here. In our time, I mean—for where he has been they are not even a
moment
------
"

He
stopped, he stood stock-still. He looked me over again, but with an intensity
and thoroughness that made me avoid an inspection
I
found too much. I trembled a little in spite of myself.

"Something
I could understand?" I stammered. "You mean
—I
should witness it?"

The expression that frightened me was gone:
he was still grave,
extremely perplexed, but his look became human, sympathetic, gentle
towards me, as he nodded his head in answer. "Yes," he murmured,
"witness it, and with your own eyes." I left it there, asking no
further
question because I dared not, and he went on quickly: "If he wakes,
have questions ready. Avoid his eyes, I advise. Hang on firmly, tightly,
to your own personality. Grip yourself like iron. Ask him"—he re-
flected a moment—"ask if he knows death—if he can speak of the
War—if love, Love, mind you—exists with value—if—if
------------
"

He shrugged his great shoulders; the tired
eyes that had not closed all night gave me a warmer look. "Oh, ask your
own questions," he added almost hopelessly. "Just ask what occurs to
you. And if anything—happens, call me up instantly. The telephone is at your
hand. I shall be near—in this building." He read the shock in my face, of
course. "Can you stand it?" he asked suddenly, moving away towards
the door, my heart sinking as I noticed it.

I
nodded stiffly. "Sudden, swift repayment, you mean?" I stammered.
His head bowed as he turned the handle.

"Departure—final
departure?" I heard my own horrified whisper.

"All
those
years—in
just
a
moment?"
For
I
caught
his
meaning,
such was
the
intensity
of
his
mind.
With
a
shock
I
caught
it.
Decay
and age
involve
considerable
time,
as
I
understood
time,
for
normal
life lays
such
process
so
gradually,
slowly,
softly
on
us
all.
Years
compressed
into
a
moment
could
only
be
appalling.

Vronski,
now
half
out
of
the
room,
his
face
a
mask
of
white, answered
below
his
breath,
a
mere
whisper
that
was
dreadful
with
a kind
of
spiritual
pain:

"If
at
all—it
must
be
very
rapid,
may
seem
almost
instantaneous," came
the
syllables
across
the
quiet
air.
"Sweet,
too,
if
terrible.
The questions
first,
remember—if
you
can."
And
the
door
closed
noiselessly
behind
him.

Alone
again,
after
taking
the
coffee
he
had
left
me
in
a
thermos,
I tried
to
think
out
the
questions
I
would
ask.
Something,
perhaps
subconscious
guidance,
assured
me
my
cousin
would
not
wake
for
hours. Were
our
deeper
selves
in
telepathic
communication
possibly?
I
cannot
say,
I
did
not
even
try
to
think.
At
the
time
I
was
sure
of
nothing except
that
it
was
safe
for
me
to
take
my
rest
and
sleep,
and
this
I therefore
did,
opening
my
eyes
again
after
what
must
have
been
many hours,
for
it
was
well
on
into
the
short
winter
afternoon
and
dusk
had come.
My
mind
felt
clear,
it
felt
also
calm,
and
this
calmness
I
noticed with
something
of
surprise.
It
has
always
seemed
to
me
remarkable, indeed,
that
my
nerves
and
faculties
supported
the
entire
experience as
they
did,
and
that
I
did
not,
almost
literally,
lose
my
senses.
The riot
of
tearing
emotions
I
certainly
had
known,
bewilderment,
excitement,
a
raging
curiosity
and
fear
beyond
easy
description,
but
deep within
me
all
the
time
was
some
centre
that
held
steady
enough,
some part
of
me
that
observed
and
judged,
burned
with
a
clear
light,
and even,
for
intolerable
flashes,
understood.

When
I
woke,
at
any
rate,
there
was
no
violence
of
feeling
in
me, the
tumult
had
died
down,
and
only
two
words
seemed
to
ring
on hauntingly
in
my
mind,
with
some
touch
of
the
turmoil
that
had
first accompanied
them.
The
combination,
"sweet
and
terrible,"
was
unusual
still,
but
the
horror
with
which
I
had
first
heard
them
did
not now
appear.
And,
after
a
cautious
inspection
of
the
sleeper
and
the bed
in
the
next
room
to
assure
myself
that
there
was
no
sign
of
change as
yet,
I
bent
my
mind
to
the
framing
of
the
questions
as
best
I
might.