I dinna think I cud ever manage
to believe in him mysel'.'
Ericson sighed and was silent. Robert remained kneeling by his
bedside, happier, clearer-headed, and more hopeful than he had ever
been. What if all was right at the heart of things--right, even as
a man, if he could understand, would say was right; right, so that a
man who understood in part could believe it to be ten times more
right than he did understand! Vaguely, dimly, yet joyfully, Robert
saw something like this in the possibility of things. His heart was
full, and the tears filled his eyes. Ericson spoke again.
'I have felt like that often for a few moments,' he said; 'but
always something would come and blow it away. I remember one spring
morning--but if you will bring me that bundle of papers, I will show
you what, if I can find it, will let you understand--'
Robert rose, went to the cupboard, and brought the pile of loose
leaves. Ericson turned them over, and, Robert was glad to see, now
and then sorted them a little. At length he drew out a sheet,
carelessly written, carelessly corrected, and hard to read.
'It is not finished, or likely to be,' he said, as he put the paper
in Robert's hand.
'Won't you read it to me yourself, Mr. Ericson?' suggested Robert.
'I would sooner put it in the fire,' he answered--'it's fate,
anyhow. I don't know why I haven't burnt them all long ago.
Rubbish, and diseased rubbish! Read it yourself, or leave it.
Pages:
356
357
358
359
360
361
362
363
364
365
366
367
368
369
370
371
372
373
374
375
376
377
378
379
380