Part 11 (1/2)
Without replying Darrell unconsciously drew nearer to his friend, and a brief silence followed, broken by Mr. Britton, who inquired, in a lighter tone,--
”What is the other reason for your constant application to your work?
You said there were two.”
Darrell bowed his head upon his hands as he answered in a low, despairing tone,--
”To stop thinking, thinking, thinking; it will drive me mad!”
”I have been there, my boy; I know,” Mr. Britton responded; then, after a pause, he continued:
”Something in the tenor of your last letter made me anxious to come to you. I thought I detected something of the old restlessness. Has the coming of spring, quickening the life forces all around you, stirred the life currents in your own veins till your spirit is again tugging at its fetters in its struggles for release?”
With a startled movement Darrell raised his head, meeting the clear eyes fixed upon him.
”How could you know?” he demanded.
”Because, as Emerson says, 'the heart in thee is the heart of all.'
There are few hearts whose pulses are not stirred by the magic influence of the springtide, and under its potent spell I knew you would feel your present limitations even more keenly than ever before.”
”Thank G.o.d, you understand!” Darrell exclaimed; then continued, pa.s.sionately: ”The last three weeks have been torture to me if I but allowed myself one moment's thought. Wherever I look I see life--life, perfect and complete in all its myriad forms--the life that is denied to me! This is not living,--this existence of mine,--with brain shackled, fettered, in many ways helpless as a child, knowing less than a child, and not even mercifully wrapped in oblivion, but compelled to feel the constant goading and galling of the fetters, to be reminded of them at every turn! My G.o.d! if it were not for constant work and study I would go mad!”
In the silence which followed Darrell's mind reverted to that autumn day on which he had first met John Britton and confided to him his trouble; and now, as then, he was soothed and strengthened by the presence beside him, by the magnetism of that touch, although no word was spoken.
As he reviewed their friends.h.i.+p of the past months he became conscious for the first time of its one-sidedness. He had often unburdened himself to his friend, confiding to him his griefs, and receiving in turn sympathy and counsel; but of the great, unknown sorrow that had wrought such havoc in his own life, what word had John Britton ever spoken? As Darrell recalled the bearing of his friend through all their acquaintance and his silence regarding his own sufferings, his eyes grew dim. The man at his side seemed, in the light of that revelation, stronger, grander, n.o.bler than ever before; not unlike to the giant peaks whose h.o.a.ry heads then loomed darkly against the starlit sky, calm, silent, majestic, giving no token of the throes of agony which, ages agone, had rent them asunder except in the mystic symbols graven on their furrowed brows. In that light his own complaints seemed puerile.
At that moment Darrell was conscious of a new fort.i.tude born within his soul; a new purpose, henceforth to dominate his life.
A heavy sigh from Mr. Britton broke the silence. ”I know the fetters are galling,” he said, ”but have patience and hope, for, at the time appointed, the shackles will be loosened, the fetters broken.”
Darrell faced his companion, a new light in his eyes but recently so dark with despair, as he asked, earnestly and tenderly,--
”Dearest and best of friends, is there no time appointed for the lifting of the burden borne so n.o.bly and uncomplainingly, 'lo, these many years?'”
With a grave, sweet smile the elder man shook his head, and, rising, began pacing up and down the room. ”There are some burdens, my son, that time cannot lift; they can only be laid down at the gates of eternity.”
With a strange, choking sensation in his throat Darrell rose, and, going to the window, stood looking out at the dim outlines of the neighboring peaks. Their vast solitude no longer oppressed him as at the first; it calmed and soothed him in his restless moods, and to-night those grim monarchs dwelling in silent fellows.h.i.+p seemed to him the embodiment of peace and rest.
After a time Mr. Britton paused beside him, and, throwing his arm about his shoulders, asked,--
”What are your thoughts, my son?”
”Only a whim, a fancy that has taken possession of me the last few days, since my wanderings among the mountains,” he answered, lightly; ”a longing to bury myself in some sort of a retreat on one of these old peaks and devote myself to study.”
”And live a hermit's life?” Mr. Britton queried, with a peculiar smile.
”For a while, yes,” Darrell replied, more seriously; ”until I have learned to fight these battles out by myself, and to conquer myself.”
”There are battles,” said the other, speaking thoughtfully, ”which are waged best in solitude, but self is conquered only by a.s.sociation with one's fellows. Solitude breeds selfishness.”