He was walking by her side, with his hands in his
coat pockets. She drew out one of his hands;
he did not return the pressure, and presently released
himself.
“I thought you were to be my intellectual companion.
I have heard you say yourself that a marriage which
is not a marriage of mind is no marriage.”
“But, Jim, is there nothing in the world to
think about but this?”
“There is nothing so important. Are we
to be dumb all our lives about what you say is religion?”
They separated and soon afterwards the engagement
was broken off. Jim had really loved Elizabeth,
but at that time he was furious against what he called
“creeds.” He waited for three or
four years till he had secured a fair practice, and
then married a clever and handsome young woman who
wrote poems, and had captivated him by telling him
a witty story from Heine. Elizabeth never married.
Thirty years passed, and Jim, now a famous physician,
had to go a long distance down the Great Western Railway
to attend a consultation. At Bath an elderly
lady entered the carriage carrying a handbag with the
initials “E. C.” upon it. She
sat in the seat farthest away from him on the opposite
side, and looked at him steadfastly. He also
looked at her, but no word was spoken for a minute.
He then crossed over, fell on his knees, and buried
his head with passionate sobbing on her knees.
She put her hands on him and her tears fell.
“Five years,” at last he said; “I
may live five years with care. She has left
me. I will give up everything and go abroad with
you. Five years; it is not much, but it will
be something, everything. I shall die with your
face over me.”
The train was slackening speed for Bristol; she bent
down and kissed him.
“Dearest Jim,” she whispered, “I
have waited a long time, but I was sure we should
come together again at last. It is enough.”
“You will go with me, then?”
Again she kissed him. “It must not be.”
Before he could reply the train was stopping at the
platform, and a gentleman with a lady appeared at
the door. Miss Castleton stepped out and was
at once driven away in a carriage with her companions.
He lived three years and then died almost suddenly
of the disease which he had foreseen would kill him.
He had no children, but few relatives, and his attendant
was a hospital nurse. But the day before his
death a lady appeared who announced herself as a family
friend, and the nurse was superseded. It was
Elizabeth: she came to his bedside, and he recognised
her.
“Not till this morning,” she said, “did
I hear you were ill.”
“Happy,” he cried, “though I die
to-night.”
Soon afterwards—it was about sundown—he
became unconscious; she sat there alone with him till
the morning broke, and then he passed away, and she
closed his eyes.
