I have given myself interests
in existence--many of them. But the sealed tomb is under one's feet.
Not to allow oneself to acknowledge its existence consciously is
one's affair. But--the devil of chance sometimes chooses to play
tricks. Such a trick was played on me."
He glanced down at the two pictures at which she herself was looking
with grave eyes. It was the photograph of Feather he took up and
set a strange questioning gaze upon.
"When I saw this," he said, "this--exquisitely smiling at me under
a green tree in a sunny garden--the tomb opened under my feet,
and I stood on the brink of it--twenty-five again."
"You cannot possibly put it into words," the Duchess said. "You
need not. I know." For he had become for the moment almost livid.
Even to her who so well knew him it was a singular thing to see
him hastily set down the picture and touch his forehead with his
handkerchief.
She knew he was about to tell her his reason for this unsealing
of the tomb. When he sat down at her table he did so. He did not
use many phrases, but in making clear his reasons he also made
clear to her certain facts which most persons would have ironically
disbelieved. But no shadow of a doubt passed through her mind
because she had through a long life dwelt interestedly on the many
variations in human type. She was extraordinarily interested when
he ended with the story of Robin.
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