d to
prepare himself for death, keeping a cheerful countenance; he had known,
like most brave men, the cold companionship of fear, and he had got rid
of that companionship. Knowing death better, he knew life much better
than when he had left England.
On the voyage out he had looked at the hills of Madeira with
Worthington. Now Worthington was not with him; he had died of enteric at
Pretoria in September. Dion was carrying back to England Worthington's
last written message to his people. He was carrying also another letter
written by an English officer, whose body lay in the earth of Africa, to
a woman at home. On the voyage Dion often thought of that dead man and
of the living woman to whom he would presently give the letter. He had
promised to deliver it personally.
At St. Vincent he had received a welcome by cable from Rosamund, and had
sent a cable to her asking not to be met. He wished to meet her in her
home at Welsley. She had written to him enthusiastic accounts of its
peace and beauty. Her pen had been tipped with love of it. Their first
meeting, their reunion, must take place there in the midst of that
wonderful peace of green England which she loved so much. After the
heat and the dust and the pain of South Africa that would surely be very
good.
Their reunion!
Dion had escaped death. He had been allowed to return to Rosamund in
splendid health, without a wound, though he had been in battle. He had
a strong presentiment that he was allowed to return for some definite
purpose. Could he not now be of far more use to his little son than if
he had never volunteered for active service? Rosamund and he had looked
up together at the columns of the Parthenon and had thought of the child
who might come. Dion felt that he understood the Parthenon better now
that he had looked death in the face, now that he had been ready to
give up his life if it had been required of him. He even had a whimsical
feeling--he smiled at it seriously to himself--that the Parthenon, if he
again stood before it, would understand him better. He was not proud
of himself for what he had done. But in the depths of him he often felt
earnestly glad, almost thankful, that he had been able to do it. The
doing of it had brought a new zest into life, new meanings, a new
outlook. He seemed to feel life like something precious in his hand now;
he had not felt it so before, even when he had won Rosamund and had been
with her in Greece.
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