She maintained that the past was good, that he could not have
acted differently, that she would not have had it otherwise--because
she loved him.
And who shall say that she was wrong?
Jack went out to meet Maurice Gordon when they heard his footsteps,
and as they walked back to the house he told him. Gordon was quite
honest about it.
"I hoped," he said, "when I ran against you in the wood, that that
was why you had come back. Nothing could have given me greater
happiness. Hang it, I AM glad, old chap!"
They sat far into the night arranging their lives. Jack was
nervously anxious to get back to England. He could not rid his mind
of the picture he had seen as he left his father's presence to go
and take his passage to Africa--the picture of an old man sitting in
a stiff-backed chair before a dying fire. Moreover, he was afraid
of Africa; the Irritability of Africa had laid its hand upon him
almost as soon as he had set his foot upon its shore. He was afraid
of the climate for Jocelyn; he was afraid of it for himself. The
happiness that comes late must be firmly held to; nothing must be
forgotten to secure it, or else it may slip between the fingers at
the last moment.
Those who have snatched happiness late in life can tell of a
thousand details carefully attended to--a whole existence laid out
in preparation for it, of health fostered, small pleasures
relinquished, days carefully spent.
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