Part 29 (1/2)
”Yes. But it'll take time.”
”A long time?”
”Very long, probably.”
”My dear, if it does, I don't know how I'm going to stand it. And if I only knew what was happening to Jerrold and Eliot. Sometimes I wonder how I've lived through these five years. First, Robert's death; then the War. And before that there was nothing but perfect happiness. I think trouble's worse to bear when you've known nothing but happiness before.... If I could only die instead of all these boys, Anne. Why can't I? What is there to live for?”
”There's Jerrold and Eliot and Colin.”
”Oh, my dear, Jerrold and Eliot may never come back. And look at poor Colin. _That_ isn't the Colin I know. He'll never be the same again. I'd almost rather he'd been killed than that he should be like this. If he'd lost a leg or an arm.... It's all very well for you, Anne. He isn't your son.”
”You don't know what he is,” said Anne. She thought: ”He's Jerrold's brother. He's what Jerrold loves more than anything.”
”No,” said Adeline. ”Everything ended for me when Robert died. I shall never marry again. I couldn't bear to put anybody in Robert's place.”
”Of course you couldn't. I know it's been awful for you, Auntie.”
”I couldn't bear it, Anne, if I didn't believe that there is Something Somewhere. I can't think how you get on without any religion.”
”How do you know I haven't any?”
”Well, you've no faith in Anything. Have you, ducky?”
”I don't know what I've faith in. It's too difficult. If you love people, that's enough, I think. It keeps you going through everything.”
”No, it doesn't. It's all the other way about. It's loving people that makes it all so hard. If you didn't love them you wouldn't care what happened to them. If I didn't love Colin I could bear his sh.e.l.l-shock better.”
”If _I_ didn't love him, I couldn't bear it at all.”
”I expect,” said Adeline, ”we both mean the same thing.”
Anne thought of Adeline's locked door; and, in spite of her love for her, she had a doubt. She wondered whether in this matter of loving they had ever meant the same thing. With Adeline love was a pa.s.sive state that began and ended in emotion. With Anne love was power in action.
More than anything it meant doing things for the people that you loved.
Adeline loved her husband and her sons, but she had run away from the sight of Robert's haemorrhage, she had tried to keep back Eliot and Jerrold from the life they wanted, she locked her door at night and shut Colin out. To Anne that was the worst thing Adeline had done yet. She tried not to think of that locked door.
”I suppose,” said Adeline, ”you'll leave me now your father's coming home?”
John Severn's letter lay between them on the table. He was retiring after twenty-five years of India. He would be home as soon as his letter.
”I shall do nothing of the sort,” said Anne. ”I shall stay as long as you want me. If father wants me he must come down here.”
In another three days he had come.
iv
He had grey hair now and his face was a little lined, a little faded, but he was slender and handsome still--handsomer, more distinguished, Adeline thought, than ever.
Again he sat out with her on the terrace when the October days were warm; he walked with her up and down the lawn and on the flagged paths of the flower garden. Again he followed her from the drawing-room to the library where Colin was, and back again. He waited, ready for her.