the secret places of the heart-第42章

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ht　a　chair　and　sat　down　at　the　bedside。　Sir　Richmond　opened　his　eyes　and　regarded　him　with　a　slight　frown。　〃A　case　of　pneumonia；〃　said　the　doctor；　〃after　great　exertion　and　fatigue；　may　take　very　rapid　and　unexpected　turns。〃　Sir　Richmond；　cheek　on　pillow；　seemed　to　assent。　〃I　think　if　you　want　to　be　sure　that　Lady　Hardy　sees　you　again　。　。　。　If　you　don't　want　to　take　risks　about　that。　。　。　One　never　knows　in　these　cases。　Probably　there　is　a　night　train。〃　Sir　Richmond　manifested　no　surprise　at　the　warning。　But　he　stuck　to　his　point。　His　voice　was　faint　but　firm。　〃Couldn't　make　up　anything　to　say　to　her。　Anything　she'd　like。〃　Dr。　Martineau　rested　on　that　for　a　little　while。　Then　he　said：　〃If　there　is　anyone　else？〃　〃Not　possible；〃　said　Sir　Richmond；　with　his　eyes　on　the　ceiling。　〃But　to　see？〃　Sir　Richmond　turned　his　head　to　Dr。　Martineau。　His　face　puckered　like　a　peevish　child's。　〃They'd　want　things　said　to　them。。。Things　to　remember。。。I　CAN'T。　I'm　tired　out。〃　〃Don't　trouble；〃　whispered　Dr。　Martineau；　suddenly　remorseful。　But　Sir　Richmond　was　also　remorseful。　〃Give　them　my　love；〃　he　said。　〃Best　love。。。Old　Martin。　Love。〃　Dr。　Martineau　was　turning　away　when　Sir　Richmond　spoke　again　in　a　whisper。　〃Best　love。。。Poor　at　the　best。　。　。　。〃　He　dozed　for　a　time。　Then　he　made　a　great　effort。　〃I　can't　see　them；　Martineau；　until　I've　something　to　say。　It's　like　that。　Perhaps　I　shall　think　of　some　kind　things　to　sayafter　a　sleep。　But　if　they　came　now。。。I'd　say　something　wrong。　Be　cross　perhaps。　Hurt　someone。　I've　hurt　so　many。　People　exaggerate。。。People　exaggerateimportance　these　occasions。〃　〃Yes；　yes；〃　whispered　Dr。　Martineau。　〃I　quite　understand。〃　Section　4　For　a　time　Sir　Richmond　dozed。　Then　he　stirred　and　muttered。　〃Second　rate。　。　。　Poor　at　the　best。　。　。　Love。　。　。　Work。　All。　。　。〃　〃It　had　been　splendid　work；〃　said　Dr。　Martineau；　and　was　not　sure　that　Sir　Richmond　heard。　〃Those　last　few　days。　。　。　lost　my　grip。　。　。　Always　lose　my　damned　grip。　〃Ragged　them。　。　。　。　Put　their　backs　up　。　。　。　。Silly。。。。　〃Never。。。。　Never　done　anythingWELL　。。。。　〃It's　done。　Done。　Well　or　ill。。。。　〃Done。〃　His　voice　sank　to　the　faintest　whisper。　〃Done　for　ever　and　ever　。。。　and　ever　。　。　。　and　ever。〃　Again　he　seemed　to　doze。　Dr。　Martineau　stood　up　softly。　Something　beyond　reason　told　him　that　this　was　certainly　a　dying　man。　He　was　reluctant　to　go　and　he　had　an　absurd　desire　that　someone；　someone　for　whom　Sir　Richmond　cared；　should　come　and　say　good…bye　to　him；　and　for　Sir　Richmond　to　say　good…bye　to　someone。　He　hated　this　lonely　launching　from　the　shores　of　life　of　one　who　had　sought　intimacy　so　persistently　and　vainly。　It　was　extraordinaryhe　saw　it　now　for　the　first　timehe　loved　this　man。　If　it　had　been　in　his　power；　he　would　at　that　moment　have　anointed　him　with　kindness。　The　doctor　found　himself　standing　in　front　of　the　untidy　writing　desk；　littered　like　a　recent　battlefield。　The　photograph　of　the　American　girl　drew　his　eyes。　What　had　happened？　Was　there　not　perhaps　some　word　for　her？　He　turned　about　as　if　to　enquire　of　the　dying　man　and　found　Sir　Richmond's　eyes　open　and　regarding　him。　In　them　he　saw　an　expression　he　had　seen　there　once　or　twice　before；　a　faint　but　excessively　irritating　gleam　of　amusement。　〃Oh！WELL！〃　said　Dr。　Martineau　and　turned　away。　He　went　to　the　window　and　stared　out　as　his　habit　was。　Sir　Richmond　continued　to　smile　dimly　at　the　doctor's　back　until　his　eyes　closed　again。　It　was　their　last　exchange。　Sir　Richmond　died　that　night　in　the　small　hours；　so　quietly　that　for　some　time　the　night　nurse　did　not　observe　what　had　happened。　She　was　indeed　roused　to　that　realization　by　the　ringing　of　the　telephone　bell　in　the　adjacent　study。　Section　5　For　a　long　time　that　night　Dr。　Martineau　had　lain　awake　unable　to　sleep。　He　was　haunted　by　the　figure　of　Sir　Richmond　lying　on　his　uncomfortable　little　bed　in　his　big　bedroom　and　by　the　curious　effect　of　loneliness　produced　by　the　nocturnal　desk　and　by　the　evident　dread　felt　by　Sir　Richmond　of　any　death…bed　partings。　He　realized　how　much　this　man；　who　had　once　sought　so　feverishly　for　intimacies；　had　shrunken　back　upon　himself；　how　solitary　his　motives　had　become；　how　rarely　he　had　taken　counsel　with　anyone　in　his　later　years。　His　mind　now　dwelt　apart。　Even　if　people　came　about　him　he　would　still　be　facing　death　alone。　And　so　it　seemed　he　meant　to　slip　out　of　life；　as　a　man　might　slip　out　of　a　crowded　assembly；　unobserved。　Even　now　he　might　be　going。　The　doctor　recalled　how　he　and　Sir　Richmond　had　talked　of　the　rage　of　life　in　a　young　baby；　how　we　drove　into　life　in　a　sort　of　fury；　how　that　rage　impelled　us　to　do　this　and　that；　how　we　fought　and　struggled　until　the　rage　spent　itself　and　was　gone。　That　eddy　of　rage　that　was　Sir　Richmond　was　now　perhaps　very　near　its　end。　Presently　it　would　fade　and　cease；　and　the　stream　that　had　made　it　and　borne　it　would　know　it　no　more。　Dr。　Martineau's　thoughts　relaxed　and　passed　into　the　picture　land　of　dreams。　He　saw　the　figure　of　Sir　Richmond；　going　as　it　were　away　from　him　along　a　narrow　path；　a　path　that　followed　the　crest　of　a　ridge；　between　great　darknesses；　enormous　cloudy　darknesses；　above　him　and　below。　He　was　going　along　this　path　without　looking　back；　without　a　thought　for　those　he　left　behind；　without　a　single　word　to　cheer　him　on　his　way；　walking　as　Dr。　Martineau　had　sometimes　watched　him　walking；　without　haste　or　avidity；　walking　as　a　man　might　along　some　great　picture　gallery　with　which　he　was　perhaps　even　over　familiar。　His　hands　would　be　in　his　pockets；　his　indifferent　eyes　upon　the　clouds　about　him。　And　as　he　strolled　along　that　path；　the　darkness　closed　in　upon　him。　His　figure　became　dim　and　dimmer。　Whither　did　that　figure　go？　Did　that　enveloping　darkness　hide　the　beginnings　of　some　strange　long　journey　or　would　it　just　dissolve　that　figure　into　itself？　Was　that　indeed　the　end？　Dr。　Martineau　was　one　of　that　large　class　of　people　who　can　neither　imagine　nor　disbelieve　in　immortality。　Dimmer　and　dimmer　grew　the　figure　but　still　it　remained　visible。　As　one　can　continue　to　see　a　star　at　dawn　until　one　turns　away。　Or　one　blinks　or　nods　and　it　is　gone。　Vanished　now　are　the　beliefs　that　held　our　race　for　countless　generations。　Where　now　was　that　Path　of　the　Dead；　mapped　so　clearly；　faced　with　such　certainty；　in　which　the　heliolithic　peoples　believed　from　Avebury　to　Polynesia？　Not　always　have　we　had　to　go　alone　and　unprepared　into　uncharted　darknesses。　For　a　time　the　dream　artist　used　a　palette　of　the　doctor's　vague　memories　of　things　Egyptian；　he　painted　a　new　roll　of　the　Book　of　the　Dead；　at　a　copy　of　which　the　doctor　had　been　looking　a　day　or　so　before。　Sir　Richmond　became　a　brown　naked　figure；　crossing　a　bridge　of　danger；　passing　between　terrific　monsters；　ferrying　a　dark　and　dreadful　stream。　He　came　to　the　scales　of　judgment　before　the　very　throne　of　Osiris　and　stood　waiting　while　dogheaded　Anubis　weighed　his　conscience　and　that　evil　monster；　the　Devourer　of　the　Dead；　crouched　ready　if　the　judgment　went　against　him。　The　doctor's　attention　concentrated　upon　the　scales。　A　memory　of　Swedengorg's　Heaven　and　Hell　mingled　with　the　Egyptian　fantasy。　Now　at　last　it　was　possible　to　know　something　real　about　this　man's　soul；　now　at　last　one　could　look　into　the　Secret　Places　of　his　Heart。　Anubis　and　Thoth；　the　god　with　the　ibis　head；　were　reading　the　heart　as　if　it　were　a　book；　reading　aloud　from　it　to　the　supreme　judge。　Suddenly　the　doctor　found　himself　in　his　own　dreams。　His　anxiety　to　plead　for　his　friend　had　brought　him　in。　He　too　had　become　a　little　painted　figure　and　he　was　bearing　a　book　in　his　hand。　He　wanted　to　show　that　the　laws　of　the　new　world　could　not　be　the　same　as　those　of　the　old；　and　the　book　he　was　bringing　as　evidence　was　his　own　Psychology　of　a　New　Age。　The　clear　thought　of　that　book　broke　up　his　dream　by　releasing　a　train　of　waking　troubles。　。　。　。　You　have　been　six　months　on　Chapter　Ten；　will　it　ever　be　ready　for　Osiris？　。　。　。　will　it　ever　be　ready　for　print？　。　。　。　Dream　and　waking　thoughts　were　mingled　like　sky　and　cloud　upon　a　windy　day　in　April。　Suddenly　he　saw　again　that　lonely　figure　on　the　narrow　way　with　darknesses　above　and　darknesses　below　and　darknesses　on　every　hand。　But　this　time　it　was　not　Sir　Richmond。　。　。　。　Who　was　it？　Surely　it　was　Everyman。　Everyma