"If something should happen to you, Derry."
"Sometimes I wonder," he said, in his grave, young voice, "why we are
so--afraid. I think we have the wrong focus. We want life, even if it
brings unhappiness, even if it brings suffering, even if it brings
disgrace. Anything seems better than to--die--"
"But to have things stop, Derry." She shuddered. "When there's so
much ahead."
"Perhaps they don't stop, dear."
"If I could only believe that--"
"Why not? Do you remember 'Sherwood,' where Blondin rides through the
forest singing:
'"Death, what is death?" he cried,
"I must ride on--"'"
His face was lifted to the golden sky. She was never to forget the
look upon it. And with a great ache and throb of passionate
renunciation, she told herself that it was for this that the men of her
generation had been born, that they might fight against the powers of
darkness for the things of the spirit.
She lay awake a long time that night, thinking it out. Of how she had
laughed at other women, scolded, said awful things to them of how their
cowardice was holding the world back. She had thought she understood,
but she had not understood.
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