"You've always wanted me to think that. You don't know what it's like
to think so, when there is a great horror that your brain has made for
you."
Guy spoke very quietly. Cuthbert hardly ventured to answer him. "You
would never understand what I meant by `feeling.' But then I
felt--_nothing_. I don't think even Christ felt like that--quite, when
He said God had forsaken Him. For _I_ felt that there was no one even
to forsake me."
"But, my dear boy," exclaimed Cuthbert, distressed, "I do not think so.
I never meant to teach you to think so. That one hallucination--"
"If you knew what a spiritual presence in your soul is, good or evil--
you would know what is involved in finding it a delusion. I was _glad_
when I felt him come."
"Did you see--it?"
"I saw the figure on the bridge, standing in my way. Well, it was a
question of drowning myself or letting him drown me. I was almost mad--
I--I think he laughed at me--I'm not sure. His eyes--"
Guy dropped his voice, and into his own eyes there came a wild,
uncertain look, as of a sorely shaken brain. But he sat up and spoke
emphatically.
"Suddenly I knew that I could try to get across. That's the point, you
see, Cuthbert--that's the point! One can try, one _can_ fight--devil or
delusion--I don't know which--one can resist, and he will flee. I think
he will always flee--for there's help. _All_ spiritual presences are
not evil; something helped me. I fainted, I suppose; but I got across
the river--I set myself to get on, but the hill was so steep--and long--
I was so deadly faint. It took an awful time, I had to stop so often;
oh, I don't wonder the other Guy was too late! But I got there in time.
Aunt Margaret knew it, she quite understood."
"It is all over now," said Cuthbert, soothingly; "you won't see the
figure again."
Guy slowly turned his eyes away from Cuthbert's face, and looked
straight in front of him.
"I see it now," he said. "Listen--don't stop me. I saw it ahead all
the way. I've seen it ever since. But--but--it's not _him_--now. Oh,
you won't understand. I _know_ he's not here now. This is a spectre--a
delusion--but it's very bad to bear. Stop; let me rest a bit."
He put his hand over his eyes and lay still--whispering, "I've some more
to say."
"Yes, tell me everything--tell me just what it is," said Cuthbert,
gently.
"I can't," said Guy. "Shakespeare was right--and it's very hard to be
quite sure. The more one thinks, the harder it is. But whatever that
is--which comes to me, I _can_ fight it; I _can_ resist. And I will. I
mustn't give in an inch. I've got to hold on with the business, and
against the drink, and against the terror. That's all I know; but I
know that, though I've almost died of learning it."
Guy turned faint after this eager speech, and was forced to lie back and
be silent. Presently he spoke again in a faltering whisper--
"Doesn't all this--"
"What, my boy? Yes, tell me."
"It is so queer--you'll dislike me for it," said poor Guy, simply, and
with tears in his eyes. "Anybody would."
"Well, I don't," said Cuthbert, in his dry, gentle voice. "You know, I
promised to see you through."
"It eases me so to have you know it. But no one else--promise me--no
one else."
"Well--but your best help in the fight would be the doctor."
"Oh yes--you may tell him anything you like, anything you can. The real
thing is past man's understanding. Only," and he collected his
strength, and looked up again steadfastly, "remember--devil or
delusion--it is not irresistible, and I can resist."
When Guy, soothed by his friend's sympathy, had dropped into a
much-needed sleep, Cuthbert still sat beside him puzzled, and, spite of
himself, awed by the terrible story. He could not forget the records of
that earlier struggle, which had come into his hands, and which Guy must
see, as soon as he was fit to do so. He did not understand the
experience enough to see why, as he put it, in the half-jesting thought
with which deep feeling veils itself, Guy preferred the devil to a
delusion. But he saw that mind and soul and body were all in danger,
and he recognised that the belief in a resisting power must be fostered
and guarded to the utmost.
"Only his faith can save him," thought Cuthbert, with a mental start at
the familiar ring of words, of which he had never made any personal
application.
"It's beyond me," he thought, "and I'll take off my hat and wait. He
may be crazed, but he's pretty much of a hero. And as for disliking
him--well--not much fear of it. I'll do all I know for him."
Then Cuthbert thought the whole matter through, from beginning to end,
and finally, with wise and uncommon mental patience, made up his mind
not to rush in like a fool, where a man of any ordinary experience might
well fear to tread. He would take every care of Guy; but, in that
unknown region of his trial, he would let him judge for himself.