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Then she died。 And for a time I too seemed to die； but could
not。 I buried her and the child here at Fulcombe； or rather I
buried their ashes since I could not endure that her beloved body
should see corruption。
Afterwards； when all was over； I spoke of these last words of
Natalie's with both Bickley and Bastin； for somehow I seemed to
wish to learn their separate views。
The latter I may explain； had been present at the end in his
spiritual capacity； but I do not think that he in the least
understood the nature of the drama which was passing before his
eyes。 His prayers and the christening absorbed all his attention；
and he never was a man who could think of more than one thing at
a time。
When I told him exactly what had happened and repeated the
words that Natalie spoke； he was much interested in his own
nebulous way； and said that it was delightful to meet with an
example of a good Christian； such as my wife had been； who
actually saw something of Heaven before she had gone there。 His
own faith was； he thanked God； fairly robust； but still an
undoubted occurrence of the sort acted as a refreshment； 〃like
rain on a pasture when it is rather dry； you know；〃 he added；
breaking into simile。
I remarked that she had not seemed to speak in the sense he
indicated； but appeared to allude to something quite near at hand
and more or less immediate。
〃I don't know that there is anything nearer at hand than the
Hereafter；〃 he answered。 〃I expect she meant that you will
probably soon die and join her in Paradise； if you are worthy to
do so。 But of course it is not wise to put too much reliance upon
words spoken by people at the last； because often they don't
quite know what they are saying。 Indeed sometimes I think this
was so in the case of my own wife； who really seemed to me to
talk a good deal of rubbish。 Good…bye； I promised to see Widow
Jenkins this afternoon about having her varicose veins cut out；
and I mustn't stop here wasting time in pleasant conversation。
She thinks just as much of her varicose veins as we do of the
loss of our wives。〃
I wonder what Bastin's ideas of unpleasant conversation may be；
thought I to myself； as I watched him depart already
wool…gathering on some other subject； probably the heresy of one
of those 〃early fathers〃 who occupied most of his thoughts。
Bickley listened to my tale in sympathetic silence； as a doctor
does to a patient。 When he was obliged to speak； he said that it
was interesting as an example of a tendency of certain minds
towards romantic vision which sometimes asserts itself； even in
the throes of death。
〃You know；〃 he added； 〃that I put faith in none of these
things。 I wish that I could； but reason and science both show me
that they lack foundation。 The world on the whole is a sad place；
where we arrive through the passions of others implanted in them
by Nature； which； although it cares nothing for individual death；
is tender towards the impulse of races of every sort to preserve
their collective life。 Indeed the impulse is Nature； or at least
its chief manifestation。 Consequently； whether we be gnats or
elephants； or anything between and beyond； even stars for aught I
know； we must make the best of things as they are； taking the
good and the evil as they come and getting all we can out of life
until it leaves us； after which we need not trouble。 You had a
good time for a little while and were happy in it； now you are
having a bad time and are wretched。 Perhaps in the future； when
your mental balance has re…asserted itself； you will have other
good times in the afternoon of your days； and then follow
twilight and the dark。 That is all there is to hope for； and we
may as well look the thing in the face。 Only I confess； my dear
fellow； that your experience convinces me that marriage should be
avoided at whatever inconvenience。 Indeed I have long wondered
that anyone can take the responsibility of bringing a child into
the world。 But probably nobody does in cold blood； except
misguided idiots like Bastin；〃 he added。 〃He would have twenty；
had not his luck intervened。〃
〃Then you believe in nothing； Friend；〃 I said。
〃Nothing； I am sorry to say； except what I see and my five
senses appreciate。〃
〃You reject all possibility of miracle； for instance？〃
〃That depends on what you mean by miracle。 Science shows us all
kinds of wonders which our great grandfathers would have called
miracles； but these are nothing but laws that we are beginning to
understand。 Give me an instance。〃
〃Well；〃 I replied at hazard； 〃if you were assured by someone
that a man could live for a thousand years？〃
〃I should tell him that he was a fool or a liar； that is all。
It is impossible。〃
〃Or that the same identity； spirit； animating principlecall
it what you willcan flit from body to body； say in successive
ages？ Or that the dead can communicate with the living？〃
〃Convince me of any of these things； Arbuthnot； and mind you I
desire to be convinced； and I will take back every word I have
said and walk through Fulcombe in a white sheet proclaiming
myself the fool。 Now； I must get off to the Cottage Hospital to
cut out Widow Jenkins's varicose veins。 They are tangible and
real at any rate； about the largest I ever saw； indeed。 Give up
dreams； old boy； and take to something useful。 You might go back
to your fiction writing； you seem to have leanings that way； and
you know you need not publish the stories； except privately for
the edification of your friends。〃
With this Parthian shaft Bickley took his departure to make a
job of Widow Jenkins's legs。
I took his advice。 During the next few months I did write
something which occupied my thoughts for a while； more or less。
It lies in my safe to this minute； for somehow I have never been
able to make up my mind to burn what cost me so much physical and
mental toil。
When it was finished my melancholy returned to me with added
force。 Everything in the house took a tongue and cried to me of
past days。 Its walls echoed a voice that I could never hear
again； in the very looking…glasses I saw the reflection of a lost
presence。 Although I had moved myself for the purposes of sleep
to a little room at the further end of the building； footsteps
seemed to creep about my bed at night and I heard the rustle of a
remembered dress without the door。 The place grew hateful to me。
I felt that I must get away from it or I should go mad。
One afternoon Bastin arrived carrying a book and in a state of
high indignation。 This work； written； as he said； by some ribald
traveller； grossly traduced the character of missionaries to the
South Sea Islands； especially of those of the Society to which he
subscribed； and he threw it on the table in his righteous wrath。
Bickley picked it up and opened it at a photograph of a very
pretty South Sea Island girl clad in a few flowers and not