Part 56 (1/2)

What was his part towards them--to mourn, and fill his life with useless melancholy? To forget, and turn his face towards the future?

Forget . . . ?

'There are times'--he found himself repeating mechanically the words which, a few hours before, he had spoken to Elise--'when I long for the power to reach out for the great truths--hidden in s.p.a.ce--and in the silence of the night.'

Suddenly his brow grew calm. The baffled, questioning look left his eyes, and he smiled strangely.

Closing the door, he turned back to his desk, and taking the pen, looked for a full minute at the paper before him.

'_To My Unborn Son_.'

He gazed at what he had written as though the words had appeared of their own volition.

'_To My Unborn Son_.'

With a far-away dreaminess in his eyes he dipped his pen in the ink and commenced to write:

'Somewhere beyond the borders of life you are waiting. I cannot speak to you, nor look on your face, but the love of a father for his child can penetrate the eternal mysteries of the unknown. To those who love there is no death; and in the hearts of parents, children live long before they are born.

'My son, this letter that I write now to you will lie hidden and unseen by other eyes until the time when you alone shall read it. I shall be changed by then: like the world, I may forget; but you, my son, must read these words, and know that they are truth--truth as unchangeable as the tides of the sea, or the hours of dawn and sunset.

'_Civilisation has murdered ten million men_.

'The human mind cannot encompa.s.s that. It is beyond its comprehension, so it is trying to forget.

'Ten million men--murdered.

'Read these words, my son, written in the hush of night, when men's souls stand revealed.

'Nearly six years ago there came the war. History will prove this or that responsibility for it, but the civilisation that made war possible is itself responsible. The nations sprang to arms; but soon, by that strange destiny which seems to guide mankind, the issue was one not of nations against nations, but of Humanity against Germany. Do not ask me how the land of Goethe, Schiller, and Beethoven became so vile. I only know that Germany was the champion of evil, and on Britain and France men's hopes were rested.

'America held aloof. When this is read by you, my son, you will have known the n.o.ble thrill of patriotism, the pride of race and citizens.h.i.+p. But it is because of that that you must read what I write now about the country I love best.

'Less than any other nation, America is to be blamed for the war. Her life was separate from the older world, and the spoils of victory made no appeal. Yet this great Republic, born of man's desire for freedom, remained silent even when the whole world saw that the war was one of Justice against Evil. Men, like myself, were blind, and fed the flames of ignorance with ignorance. Others knew we were not ready, and called upon us to prepare; and others made great fortunes while Youth went to its Cross.

'Month after month pa.s.sed by, and Britain and her Allies fought Humanity's fight; and the murder of men went on.

'At last we came of age, and our young men stormed across the seas, not to save America--for we had nothing to fear--but to rid the world of an intolerable curse. Look fearlessly at the truth, but do not forget that when we went it was for an ideal--just as years before, when North and South fought the issue of preserving the Union, the impulse that drove our fathers on to their deaths was their souls' demand of freedom for the negro. By her delay was America defamed; by the spirit of her coming was she great.'

Selwyn put down his pen, and rested his head between his hands. Ten minutes pa.s.sed before he looked up and began to write again.

'The war is over. _America is debtor to the world_. Read this, my son, with both humility and pride--humility that it is so, pride that we yet can pay.