"
The boy looked into Julian's face with the pitying grin of superior
knowledge of the world.
"Ah, sir, you didn't see father," he said.
Then he turned and bounded eagerly down the stairs, in a hurry for the
cab-ride.
Loneliness and desolation descended like a cloud over Julian when he had
gone, for the frank belief of the boy, who cared nothing, struck like an
arrow of truth to his heart, who cared everything. Was Valentine indeed
dead? He would not believe it, for such a belief would bring the world in
ruins about his feet. Such a belief would people his soul with phantoms
of despair and of wickedness. Could he not cry out against God in
blasphemy, if God took his friend from him? The tears rushed into his
eyes, as he sat waiting there in the night. As before a drowning man,
scenes of the last five years flashed before him, painted in vital
colours,--scenes of his life with Valentine,--then scenes of all that
might have been had he never met Valentine, never known his strange
mastering influence. Could that influence have been given only to be
withdrawn? Of all the inexplicable things of life the most inexplicable
are the abrupt intrusions and disappearances of those lovely
manifestations which give healing to tired hearts, to the wounded
soldiers of the campaign of the world.
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