"
If it had not been for the Major's return from India, I firmly
believed that Derrick and Freda would by this time have been
betrothed. Derrick had taken a line which necessarily divided them,
had done what he saw to be his duty; yet what were the results? He
had lost Freda, he had lost his book, he had damaged his chance of
success as a writer, he had been struck out of his father's will,
and he had suffered unspeakably. Had anything whatever been gained?
The Major was dying unrepentant to all appearance, as hard and
cynical an old worldling as I ever saw. The only spark of grace he
showed was that tardy endeavour to make a fresh will. What good had
it all been? What good?
I could not answer the question then, could only cry out in a sort
of indignation, "What profit is there in his blood?" But looking at
it now, I have a sort of perception that the very lack of apparent
profitableness was part of Derrick's training, while if, as I now
incline to think, there is a hereafter where the training begun here
is continued, the old Major in the hell he most richly deserved
would have the remembrance of his son's patience and constancy and
devotion to serve as a guiding light in the outer darkness.
Pages:
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131