The Twilight of the Souls Part 46

He stood on the stairs and listened. What was that rushing noise in the distance? No, there was no rushing.... Yes, there was: something came rushing, from outside, to where he stood; something came rushing: a melancholy wind, like a wind out of eternity.... An immense eternity; and immense the wind that rushed out of it; and chilly and small and dreary the house; everything so small; he himself so small!... He did not know what was coming over him, but he felt frightened ...

frightened, as he had sometimes felt when a child.... He was so afraid of that rushing sound that he called out:

"Adeline!... Line!..."

He waited for her to hear and answer. But she did not hear, she slept.... Then he roamed on, shuddering ... upstairs ... to his own little room.... And it was all so dreary and chill and lonely and the sound of rushing from the immense eternity outside the house was so melancholy that he sank helplessly into a chair and began to sob.... He was done for now.... He sobbed.... His great, emaciated body jolted up and down with his sobs; his lungs panted with his sobs; and, in his great, lean hands, his head sobbed, in despair....

He was done for now.... He knew now that he would not get well.... He knew now that he ought really to have died ... and that he had gone on living only because his life had gone on hanging to a thread that had not broken. Would that last thread soon break? Or would his darkened life go on for a long time--he always ill--hanging to that last thread?

Would he yet be able to be a father to his children ... or would he ...

on the contrary ... become ... a burden to his dear ones? Was it growing dark, was it growing dark? Was not that eternity rushing along?...

He heaved a deep sigh, amid his sobs. His eyes sought along the wall, where a rack of swords and Malay krises hung between prints of race-horses and pretty women. He had a whole collection of those weapons. Some of them had belonged to his father. At Papa's death they had been divided between him and Ernst.... Among the krises and swords were two revolvers....

He stared past the swords and krises ... and his eyes fastened on the revolvers.... In among the swords and krises, in among the race-horses and the pretty women whirled all the heads of his children--he did not know if they were portraits or spectres--as they had been, children's heads of six months, one year old, two years old: growing older and bigger, radiating more and more sunlight, his golden dawn of nine bright-haired children?... Would he be able to be a father to them, or would he on the contrary become a burden?...

It was as if his imagination were digging in a deep pit. In a deep pit his imagination, with hurrying hands, dug up sand. What was it seeking, his rooting imagination? What was it seeking in the deep pit, why was it flinging the sand around him ... just as Addie once told him that Ernst had dug and flung up sand ... in the dunes ... in the dunes at Nunspeet?... What!... What!... Was he going mad too!... Was he going mad ... like Ernst? Was he going mad ... like Ernst?... A cold sweat broke out over his chilly, shivering body. Was he going mad?...

"Gerrit!... Gerrit!"

A voice sounded very far away through the house, which had suddenly become very deep, very wide, very big.

"Gerrit!... Gerrit!"

He could hear the hurrying footsteps on the creaking stairs, but he was powerless to answer.

"Gerrit!... Gerrit!... Where are you?"

The door opened. It was Adeline, looking for him ... in the dark:

"Gerrit!... Are you here?..."

Even yet he did not answer.

"Where are you, Gerrit?"

"Here."

"Are you here?"

"Yes."

"Why are you sitting in the dark ... in the cold?... What are you doing here, Gerrit?..."

"I ... I was looking for something."

"For what?..."

"I've forgotten."

"Why didn't you ask me?"

She had lit the gas.

"You were asleep."

"Don't be angry, Gerrit. I was tired."

"I'm not angry, dear. I didn't like to disturb you."

"Why didn't you wake me?"

"You were asleep."

"You ought to have waked me."

He put out his arms to her:

"Come here, dear."

She came; he drew her to his knees.

"What is it, Gerrit?"

"Darling ... Line ... I believe I'm very ... very ill."

"You've been ill, Gerrit. You're ... you're getting better now...."

"Do you think so?..."

"Oh yes!"

"Line, I believe.... I'm very ... very ... ill."

"Why, do you feel worse?... It's so cold in here. Come downstairs. We'll make up the fire."

"No, stay here.... Tell me, Line: if I died, would you...."

"No, no, Gerrit, I can't bear it!"

"Hush, dear: if I died, would you believe ... after I am dead...."

"Oh, Gerrit, Gerrit!"

"That I have always been very fond of you...."

"Gerrit, don't!"

"That I have always been kind to you ... that I have not neglected you?..."

"Oh, you're not going to die, Gerrit!... You will get better ... and you have always, always been kind!..."