Page:Cup of Gold-1929.djvu/274

“But you prayed before.”

“Yes, I prayed before—because my mother would have liked it. She would have wanted me to pray at least once, more as a proof of her training than for any other reason, a reassurance to her that she had done her duty by me.”

“Would you die heretic, Sir Henry? Aren't you afraid of death?”

“I am too tired, sir, or too lazy, to consider problems of heresy. And I am not afraid of death. I have seen much violence, and no man whom I have admired was afraid of death, but only of dying. You see, sir, death is an intellectual matter, but dying is pure pain. And this death of mine is very pleasant so far. No, sir; I am not afraid even of dying. It is comfortable, and it would be quiet if I could only be left alone. It is as though I were about to sleep after a great effort.”

He heard the Vicar's voice again; but, though the warm hand still stroked his wrist, the voice came from a mighty distance.

“He will not answer me,” the Vicar was saying. “I am perplexed for his soul.”

Then he heard his wife speaking to him. “You must pray, dear. Every one does. How can you get to heaven if you do not pray?”

There she was again, intent on making a contract with God. But Henry did not want to look at her. Naive though her philosophy was, her eyes were as deep and as sad as the limitless sky. He wanted to say, “I won't want to get to heaven once I am dead. I won't want them to disturb