The Passion for Life

  XXI

  MISSING--DEAD

  On turning to the list of casualties which appeared, I saw to my horrorthat Hugh Lethbridge was missing. What that might mean I could not ofcourse tell, but the news made my heart as heavy as lead. During themonths I had known him I had become much attracted to the young fellowand had conceived a strong affection for him. If he had been my ownbrother I do not think I could have felt the news more keenly than Idid. But more than that I reflected upon the sorrow of his young wife,and the pain his mother would be suffering. I called to mind the lastletter I had received from him.

  "Of course, we live only from hour to hour here," he said; "in fact,only from minute to minute. I have known chaps who have been laughingand joking one minute and have been hurled into eternity the next. Thatmight happen to me. I am feeling very fit just now, but what may be myfate to-morrow, God only knows. I do not trouble so much about myself,but it is Mary I am constantly thinking about. She writes me often, andon the whole is very cheerful, but I know what she is feeling. I do notfear death so much except for her and for mother. As for father andBella, I do not think they would care much. Anyhow, I would rather bekilled than taken prisoner. From what I can hear, those Germans act asdevils towards English prisoners."

  I wondered what the term "missing" might mean. Of course, he had beenlost sight of, but whether he had been taken prisoner or not was notclear from what the paper said.

  "Going out, sir?" said Simpson, as I put on a light overcoat.

  "Yes, Simpson, I am going up to Trecarrel."

  "Any bad news, sir?"

  "Yes," I replied. "Mr. Hugh Lethbridge is missing."

  "Dear, dear sir!" Then lapsing into his old formula when he did not knowwhat to say, he added, "Yes, sir; thank you, sir."

  I had scarcely come within sight of Trecarrel when I had an attack of myold malady. It was not severe. Nevertheless, while it lasted it wasterrible. I thought I should have fainted on the footpath on which Iwalked. Presently it passed away somewhat, and, undeterred by mysuffering, I made my way towards the house. At that moment my lastmeeting with Isabella Lethbridge had no weight with me whatever. Infact, I did not anticipate seeing her. However, she must have seen me asI came up the drive, for it was not a servant but she who opened thedoor.

  "What is the matter? You are ill!" she cried. "I--I never saw youlooking like this before."

  "That does not matter," was my reply. "I am all right now. I came upbecause--because...." I did not finish the sentence. I was startled bythe look in her eyes. I saw her lips quivering. "Your father and motherare in?" I queried.

  "Yes, but--but I do not think you had better see them now."

  "It may not be so bad after all," I said, trying to speak cheerfully."The paper only reports him missing."

  "Oh, but haven't you heard? No, of course you can't have. But you oughtnot to be here. You look so ill, so terribly ill."

  "She must care for her brother more than I thought. She speaks like onein terrible distress," I reflected. "Oh, no, I am not ill at all now," Isaid aloud, "but I saw the paper just now, and I could not help coming.It is not so bad as it might be, is it? While there is life there ishope."

  "But there is no hope," she said. "Hugh is dead."

  "Dead! Why, the paper----"

  "Yes, yes, I know; but we have had a special message. It came late lastnight. Hugh is dead. Hugh is killed."

  I stood like one stunned, I could not speak. The news had struck medumb.

  "Can't you say something?" she cried. "No, of course you can't. And youought not to be here either. I will order a carriage to take you back,"she added like one distraught. Her words came almost in gasps.

  "And your father and mother?" I asked, without seeming to notice whatshe had said. "I hope--I hope----"

  "Mother is wonderful. You see, she expected nothing else. She alwayssaid from the day that Hugh went to the front that he would be killed.Oh, yes, mother is wonderful, but my father.... Perhaps, after all, hewill see you. Shall I tell him you are here?"

  "Perhaps it would be better not, after all," was my reply. "I suppose Iought not to have come here; it was foolish; but I was so overwhelmedwith the news that I could not help myself."

  She looked at me for a few seconds in a way that I had never seen herlook before, and then left the room suddenly. Presently I heard heavyfootsteps coming towards me, and then Josiah Lethbridge entered theroom. He looked years older than on the previous night, but the samestern strength of the man manifested itself. He held himself erect, andhid any emotions he might have felt.

  "Excuse me for coming, Mr. Lethbridge, but although I had known Hugh forsuch a short time, I loved him as if he were my own brother."

  "It is very kind of you to come," he said almost coldly; and then, "Butyou ought not to be here."

  At that moment Mrs. Lethbridge entered, and I could not help beingstruck by her appearance. There was a new dignity in her every look andmovement. A kind of holy pride shone from her eyes, although it was easyto see that they were not strangers to tears. The suggestion ofinconsequence which had struck me when I had first seen her was entirelygone.

  "I am pleased to see you," she said, holding out her hand. "You wereHugh's friend."

  "I came to tell you how--how grieved I am."

  "You must not speak like that," she said quietly. "My boy died in a holycause. 'He saved others, but himself he _would_ not save.'"

  "Yes," I said, "that is true. One cannot think of him as dead in theordinary way. When one gives his life willingly for what he believes tobe the highest and the holiest, death has lost its sting."

  "Oh, he is not dead!" she said. "I could not think of him as dead. Thespirit which led him to do what he did can never die. Have you seen whatthey have said about him? Here, read his Colonel's letter, will you?"And she passed me a missive which I could see had been stained by manytears.

  It was the letter of a plain, blunt soldier who was not gifted withgreat literary powers, and yet because it was so simple, sostraightforward, it was more eloquent than if it had been written by amaster of words. It described how Hugh, in the face of almost certaindeath, had undertaken work which might mean incalculable advantage tothe British Army--that he had led his men forward in the face ofwithering fire, and that he had done what he set out to do. At first itwas thought that he had been taken prisoner, as no signs of him were tobe seen, but presently his body was discovered, almost mutilated out ofrecognition, yet plainly to be identified by infallible signs.

  "He died a hero," concluded the plain, blunt soldier, "died for hiscountry and his God. Had he lived, I should have recommended him for acaptaincy right away, but he has received his promotion in a betterworld."

  "That is it, don't you see?" said Mrs. Lethbridge, "he has received hispromotion."

  I could not keep back the tears which started to my eyes. I longed, noone knows how I longed, for the assurance which filled the mother'sheart. Nevertheless, I could not help being gladdened by her faith.

  "He will not come to me, but I shall go to him," she went on. "Do youknow, Mr. Erskine, a few days ago I began to hope that he would return,and I pictured him coming back to St. Issey well and strong. I saw thepeople doing my boy honor; but that was pure fancy on my part, and itdoes not matter now. Yes, I shall go to him."

  I could not help glancing at Josiah Lethbridge as she spoke. I wonderedwhat he, who had driven his son from home, felt at that moment; but hisface told me nothing; he might not have heard his wife's words. It washard and stony and emotionless. But he did not rebuke his wife as hewould have rebuked her the day before. He who had forbidden his familyto mention Hugh's name sat silent, his face grave, ashen, his eyes fixedon the floor. What he felt or thought I could not tell, but I could nothelp believing that he shared his wife's pride. How could it beotherwise? After all, Hugh was his son.

  "Bella told me that you looked terribly ill," went on Mrs. Lethbridge."Certainly you do look pale, but better than she led me to believe. MayI order you som
e refreshments?"

  "No, I am better now," I replied, and glancing towards the mirror, I sawthat my face had resumed its normal color.

  Scarcely had she spoken than I heard the sound of wheels on the driveoutside, and a minute later Squire Treherne was shown into the room.

  "I could not help coming," said the bluff old man. "The last time I washere I told you--but never mind what I told you--that is over now. Ijust glanced at the paper this morning, and then, before I knew what Iwas doing, I was on my way here. We must hope for the best! He is onlyreported as missing."

  But Josiah Lethbridge did not speak a word. Instead, he looked out ofthe window as though interested in the trees which were just burstinginto life.

  "Excuse me, Mrs. Lethbridge," went on the Squire, "I did not notice you;it was very rude of me."

  Mrs. Lethbridge did not speak a word. She simply handed him the letterof Hugh's Colonel.

  "God bless my soul! I did not know this," he stammered. "No--no, I didnot know this, but--but----"

  "I never felt so proud in all my life," said the mother. "I always knewthat my boy was a good boy; now I know that he was a hero. He laid downhis life willingly."

  Still Josiah Lethbridge did not speak. His eyes were still fixed on thetrees in the park.

  "I know what you are feeling," said the Squire, after a few seconds ofalmost painful silence. "I know, I know. I lost my only son in the BoerWar, and I--I have never been the same man since. Can--can I do anythingfor you?" he added.

  "I was just going to suggest," I said, "that I should go over to JohnTreleaven's farm and see Hugh's wife. She will, of course, have heardthe news."

  "Thank you, Mr. Erskine," said Mrs. Lethbridge, "but that is my work. Itis my duty to go and comfort my son's wife."

  Again I noticed the new tone in her voice. The last time I was at thehouse she would not have dared to suggest such a thing. She would havefeared her husband's anger, but now she stated her intentions naturally.She did not even look towards Josiah Lethbridge as she spoke, but I, whoglanced at him at that moment, saw that his face never moved a muscle.

  "If you would do something for me," said Mrs. Lethbridge, "take care ofMr. Erskine. My daughter told me just now that he was very ill and oughtnot to have come here."

  "God bless my soul! you do look seedy," said the Squire. "What is thematter?"

  "I only had a slight attack of my old trouble, and I look a great dealworse than I am."

  "All the same, I am going to take you back with me," said the Squire."No, no, I shall take no denial. That hut of yours on the cliff, withonly a man-servant to look after you, is certainly no place for a manwho feels seedy. You--you are sure I can do nothing for you, Mrs.Lethbridge? I do feel for you, God knows that. All the same, I do envyyou. I wish I had another son to give. Yes, ten sons; I should beprouder than words can say to send every one of them. Somehow thisterrible business makes one think differently of life, makes one feelthat we have had wrong ideas of everything. Somehow we have confusedexisting with living."

  Surely that was a morning of happenings, for scarcely had the Squirespoken than a servant entered the room bearing a letter. It came fromthe Vicar.

  Josiah Lethbridge took the letter without a word and read it throughwith the same unmoved countenance. After he had done so he passed it tohis wife.

  "This is kind of Mr. Trelaske," she said. "He must be burdened by hisown sorrow, yet he sends this letter to us. Of course he does not knowall the truth."

  I rose to go. I felt that I should be intruding if I stayed longer. Iheld out my hand to Mr. Lethbridge, who took it almost mechanically.

  "It is very kind of you to call," he said. "And--and take care ofyourself; you are not strong, you know."

  When I reached the hall I found Isabella Lethbridge standing there.

  "That letter from the Colonel is simply splendid," I said. "Of courseyour loss must be terrible, but you must be proud of your brother."

  She made no reply, neither could I understand the look on her face. Itwas not so much sorrow I saw, as wonder and amazement.

  "Funny family!" said the Squire to me, as we drove away. "Did you noticethat the man never spoke a word?"

  I nodded, and the Squire went on:

  "My God! what must he be suffering! Drove the boy from home too!But--but, don't I wish he were my boy! Anyhow, there is going to be achange in that house."

  "What do you mean?" I asked.

  "The atmosphere is different. Did you notice Mrs. Lethbridge's face? Didyou hear what she said?"

  When we reached St. Issey, I asked the Squire to tell the driver to dropme, as I could easily walk to my house; but the old man would not haveit.

  "No, no, Erskine," he said, "you must come up and spend the day with me;I have nothing to do. Do you know, I have often felt condemned atleaving you so much alone; but you seemed as though you did not wish forsociety. Still, I have got you now! Yes, yes, I will send word to thatman of yours, telling him what has happened to you."

  A few minutes later I was snugly ensconced in the Squire's library,while Mrs. Treherne and her daughter fussed about me as though I were aninvalid. I must confess that it was pleasant to be ministered to by awoman's hands. Simpson was all very well, but I do not think that anyman knows what to do in the time of illness as a woman does.

  "What are you thinking about, Erskine?" asked the Squire presently,after he had placed a box of cigars before me.

  "I was thinking about Mr. Lethbridge's face," I said. "I was wonderingwhat he must be feeling."

  "A hard man, Erskine, a hard man. A man who has lived to make money; aman who has always had his own way. Whatever he has touched has turnedto gold, whatever he has willed has come to pass." The Squire sighed ashe spoke. "He has pulled all sorts of people into his net," he went on,"and got all sorts of people into his power. He does not say much, buthe could ruin lots of us if he willed so to do."

  I called to mind what Hugh Lethbridge had told me, and I fancy I knewwhat the old man was thinking.

  "Sometimes, deep down in my heart," went on the Squire, "I have calledhim a Shylock; but I am not going to think about that now. He is passingthrough deep waters."

  After lunch, I again announced my intention of returning home, but wasagain dissuaded; not only the Squire, but neither his wife nor hisdaughter would hear of my going.

  "We will have an informal dinner at six o'clock," said the old man,"then you must come with me to the prayer-meeting."

  The idea seemed so incongruous that I could not help smiling.

  "Yes, I know what you are thinking," said the Squire, with a laugh. "Ihave never been to a prayer-meeting in my life, and I had no thought ofgoing until you kind of suggested it to me yourself after last night'sservice; but when I came to think about it, it seemed natural and right.We are in for a stiff job, Erskine. I never realized it as I do now.Those Germans stand at nothing! Nothing is too devilish for them to do!Poisoned gases, poisoned wells, sinking passenger ships, killingdefenseless women and children, murdering our soldiers, even when theyare in the act of doing them a kindness,--nothing is too bad for them.But they are strong! They are strong! We do not realize yet how strongthey are. They have utilized all the resources of their country to beatus, to crush us, and we shall have to use every ounce of strength wepossess to come out on top. As the Prime Minister said, we must beprepared to shed our last drop of blood.

  "But that is not all, Erskine. I know I have not been a religious man inthe ordinary sense of the word, although I have gone to Church and triedto act straight, but it seems to me as though God wants to teach us alesson. He is wanting to bring us to our senses. Never in my life have Irealized the need of God as I do now, and if we are to fight His battleswe need to go to Him for help. I have seen, too, how paltry is the spitewhich exists between the sects. God bless my soul! What, after all, doesthe Almighty care whether we go to Church or to Chapel? And it may bethat this war will teach us how silly we have been. That is why, inspite of my prejudices, I am glad that
Trelaske announced the meetingfor to-night. Yes, I am going, Erskine, and I hope you are going too."

  At seven o'clock that night the Squire and I stood at the door of thevillage schoolroom, for we had both determined to go to theprayer-meeting.