It was a gladness above
all, that this remained to look forward to, the pure inhuman otherness
of death.
Whatever life might be, it could not take away death, the inhuman
transcendent death. Oh, let us ask no question of it, what it is or is
not. To know is human, and in death we do not know, we are not human.
And the joy of this compensates for all the bitterness of knowledge and
the sordidness of our humanity. In death we shall not be human, and we
shall not know. The promise of this is our heritage, we look forward
like heirs to their majority.
Ursula sat quite still and quite forgotten, alone by the fire in the
drawing-room. The children were playing in the kitchen, all the others
were gone to church. And she was gone into the ultimate darkness of her
own soul.
She was startled by hearing the bell ring, away in the kitchen, the
children came scudding along the passage in delicious alarm.
'Ursula, there's somebody.'
'I know. Don't be silly,' she replied. She too was startled, almost
frightened.
Pages:
379
380
381
382
383
384
385
386
387
388
389
390
391
392
393
394
395
396
397
398
399
400
401
402
403