CHAPTER XXI
IN WHICH I LEARNED THAT I AM LESS OF A COWARD THAN I HAD SUPPOSED
There is, I think, a wistful sadness in the fall of evening, a vagueregret for the fading glories of the day which, passing out of ourlives for ever, leaves us so much the richer or poorer, the nobler ormore unworthy, according to the use we have made of the opportunitiesit has offered us for the doing of good or evil.
Thus I walked pensive through the solemn evening stillness, watchingthe shadows gathering and the sky slowly deepen to a glimmering dusk,wherein the first faint stars peeped.
Suddenly, from the mysteries of sombre trees hard by, stole theplaintive notes of a blackbird singing, as it were, in poignant, sweetfarewell:
'This day, with its joys and sorrows, its pain and travail, itspossibilities for works good or evil, is passed away. O ye that grievefor chances lost or wasted, that sorrow for wrongs done or goodundone, be comforted. Sleep ye in the sure hope that God of His mercyshall renew your hope for better things with to-morrow's dawn. Socomfort ye!'
As I stood, the better to hear, my mind busied with some such thoughtas this conjured up of the bird's evening hymn, Diana's hand met minein sudden, warm clasp.
"O Peregrine," she murmured, "so you love the silent places too?"
"Yes!" said I. "Yes! It is in such places that angels walk."
"Angels, Peregrine?"
"Great and noble thoughts, Diana. These are truly God's angels, Ithink, since they are the inspiration to all great and good works."
"It is in the silent places I am happiest, Peregrine."
"Because you have a soul, thank God!"
"What do you mean by a 'soul,' Peregrine?"
"I mean that part of us which cannot perish because it is part of GodHimself. I mean that part of us whereby, in spite of this fleshlybody, we may rise above fleshly desires and gain some perception ofthe Infinite Truth--which is God. Do you understand, Diana?"
"No, I'm afraid I don't," she answered wistfully, "but you won't losepatience wi' me, Peregrine?"
"Never, Diana. How could I when I don't understand myself. Who does?The wisest philosophers of all ages have been puzzling over theirsouls and never understood the wonder of it. Who shall describe thesoul and its ultimate end?"
"Well," said she diffidently, "there's Jerry Jarvis--"
"What, the Tinker?" I exclaimed.
"Yes. He made a verse about the soul--I mean this one--
"'And when my time shall come to die I care not where my flesh may lie Because I know my soul shall fly Back to the stars!'"
"Ah, yes, the stars!" said I, lifting my gaze to the spangledfirmament above us. "This is a great thought--who knows?"
And presently as we went on together, hand in hand, came night verystill and silent and full of a splendour of stars that made a softtwilight about us, very wonderful to behold.
"Now, why do that?" I demanded suddenly, for she had slipped her handfrom mine.
"Because!" she retorted.
"Because of what?"
"Just because!"
"Does it impede you to hold my hand?"
"Of course not."
"My hand is neither unpleasantly clammy nor particularly dirty, isit?"
"No, Peregrine."
"Then why not hold it?"
"Because!"
"Upon my word!" I exclaimed, "you are very provoking!"
"Am I, Peregrine?"
"Extremely so! Why won't you hold my hand? And pray answerintelligibly."
"Because I don't want to!"
"Oh, very well!" said I, greatly huffed. "Then you shall decline theverb 'To be' instead."
"I do, Peregrine."
"Do what?"
"Decline any more of your verbs."
"Ha, then you don't wish to learn--?"
"I do, Peregrine, I do! But I'm sure I shall learn quicker if you'lllet me try to talk like you; I've learned a bit already only you nevernotice--"
"Oh, yes, I do--God in heaven!" I gasped, my heart leaping in suddensickening dread. "What is that?" My flesh chilled with horror as fromthe gloomy depths of the wood upon our left rose a sound evil beyonddescription, an awful scuffling intermingled with gasps and sighs veryterrible to hear.
Spellbound by this dreadful, hushed clamour, I stood rigidly, staringinto those dense shadows whence it came; then joyed to the warm,strong clasp of her fingers on mine and, in this awful moment,wondered to feel her hand so steady.
"Are you afraid, Peregrine?" she whispered.
"Yes!" I mumbled. "Yes!"
"But are you brave enough to go and see what it is? Dare yougo--alone?"
"No!" I gasped. "No--I should--die--" My teeth snapped shut upon theword and I began to creep forward, the ash stick clutched in shakinghand, my eyes glaring in horrified expectancy. Foot by foot I forcedmy shivering body forward into the denser shadows of the underbrush,on and on in such agony of fear that the sweat poured from me, for nowthis frightful struggling was louder and more menacing; therefore,lest I should blench and turn back, I ran wildly forward until, all atonce, I stopped at sight of a shapeless something, a dim horror thatstarted and wallowed, gasping, upon the ground before me; then, as Istared, the thing bleated feebly, and I knew it for a sheep and,coming nearer, saw the poor animal lay upon its back, kicking andstruggling vainly to regain its feet.
My revulsion of feeling was so great that a faintness seized me and Ileaned half-swooning against a tree. And in this moment Diana's armwas about me and her voice in my ear.
"Oh, but that was brave, Peregrine--I never thought you'd go! Now helpme to get the poor thing to her feet." So between us we contrived toset the sheep upon its legs and watched it amble feebly away. Then,side by side, we came out of the wood where we might behold the stars.
"Diana," said I, with my gaze uplifted to their glory, "did you knowit was only a sheep?"
"Of course!"
"And I am a little braver than you expected?"
"Yes, Peregrine."
"Then--suppose you take my hand again!"
Peregrine's Progress Page 23