ar, where he
has done well; he married a wife with some money; and I think his
ultimate ambition has been to enter Parliament. He told me, when I last
saw him, that he had now, he thought, made enough money for this, and
that he would probably stand at the next election. I have always liked
his wife, who is a sensible, good-natured woman, with social ambitions.
They live in a good house in London, in a wealthy sort of way. I
arrived to luncheon, and sate a little while with Mrs. Darell in the
drawing-room. I became aware, while I sate with her, that there was a
sense of anxiety in the air somehow, though she spoke cheerfully enough
of her husband, saying that he had overworked himself, and had to lie
up for a little. When he came into the room I understood. It was not
that he was physically much altered--he is a strongly-built fellow,
with a sanguine complexion and thick curly hair, now somewhat grizzled;
but I knew at the first sight of him that matters were serious. He was
quiet and even cheerful in manner, but he had a look on his face that I
had never seen before, the look of a man whose view of life has been
suddenly altered, and who is preparing himself for the last long
journey. I knew instinctively that he believed himself a doomed man. He
said very little about himself, and I did not ask him much; he talked
about my books, and a good deal about old friends; but all with a
sense, I thought, of detachment, as though he were viewing everything
over a sort of intangible fence. After luncheon, we adjourned to his
study and smoked. He then said a few words about his illness, and added
that it had altered his plans. "I am told," he said, "that I must take
a good long holiday--rather a difficult job for a man who cares a great
deal about his work and very little about anything else;" he added a
few medical details, from which I gathered the nature of his illness.
Then he went on to talk of casual matters; it seemed to interest him to
discuss what had been happening to our school and college friends; but
I knew, without being told, that he wished me to understand that he did
not expect to resume his place in the world--and indeed I divined, by
some dim communication of the spirit, that he thought my visit was
probably a farewell. But he talked with unabated courage and interest,
smiling where he would in old days have laughed, and speaking of our
friends with more tenderness than was his wont. Only once did he half
betra