Now Jesus Christ must be as
good as Robert at least. I think he must be a great deal better, if
he's Jesus Christ at all. Now Robert might be hurt if I didn't
believe in him. But I've never seen Jesus Christ. It's all in an
old book, over which the people that say they believe in it the
most, fight like dogs and cats. I beg your pardon, my Mary; but
they do, though the words are ugly.'
'Ah! but if you had tried it as I've tried it, you would know
better, Eric.'
'I think I should, dear. But it's too late now. I must just go and
see. There's no other way left.'
The terrible cough came again. As soon as the fit was over, with a
grand despair in his heart, Robert went from behind the screen.
Ericson was on a couch. His head lay on Mary St. John's bosom.
Neither saw him.
'Perhaps,' said Ericson, panting with death, 'a kiss in heaven may
be as good as being married on earth, Mary.'
She saw Robert and did not answer. Then Eric saw him. He smiled;
but Mary grew very pale.
Robert came forward, stooped and kissed Ericson's forehead, kneeled
and kissed Mary's hand, rose and went out.
>From that moment they were both dead to him. Dead, I say--not lost,
not estranged, but dead--that is, awful and holy. He wept for Eric.
He did not weep for Mary yet. But he found a time.
Ericson died two days after.
Here endeth Robert's youth.
CHAPTER XXV.
IN MEMORIAM.
In memory of Eric Ericson, I add a chapter of sonnets gathered from
his papers, almost desiring that those only should read them who
turn to the book a second time.
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