Anyhow, in so far as these matters are concerned, I
never had nor desired a confidant. In this connection I recall the
last words spoken to me by my younger brother, the being I loved best
on earth at that time and the one I had been more intimate with than
with any other person I have ever known. This was after the dark days
and years had been overpass, when I had had long periods of fairly
good health and had known happiness in the solitary places I loved to
haunt, communing with wild nature, with wild birds for company.
He was with me in the ship in which I had taken my passage "home," as
I insisted on calling England, to his amusement, and when we had
grasped hands for the last time and had said our last good-bye, he
added this one more last word: "Of all the people I have ever known
you are the only one I don't know."
It was a word, I imagine, never spoken by a mother of a loved son, her
insight, born of her exceeding love, being so much greater than that
of the closest friend and brother. I never breathed a word of my
doubts and mental agonizing to my mother; I spoke to her only of my
bodily sufferings; yet she knew it all, and I knew that she knew. And
because she knew and understood the temper of my mind as well, she
never questioned, never probed, but invariably when alone with me she
would with infinite tenderness in her manner touch on spiritual things
and tell me of her own state, the consolations of her faith which gave
her peace and strength in all our reverses and anxieties.
Pages:
332
333
334
335
336
337
338
339
340
341
342
343
344
345
346
347
348
349
350
351
352
353
354
355
356