Trench sank into a chair, stricken, and closed his eyes. But he kept
saying to himself, “Thank God, thank God.” He did not intend it as prayer
or praise, but it was perilously near the line.
Half an hour later he ascertained that Edith was still with Elsie. He
waited till next morning, however, in order to give Elsie a night’s
rest. Then he went to the flat, found Edith alone in the front room, and
silently showed her the message.
Edith as silently read it. She asked him to remain, in case the shock
made medical attendance necessary. Then she went into Elsie’s bedroom.
“My dear, dearest girl—are you brave this morning?”
Elsie turned her great dark eyes toward her friend, and again they seemed
to kindle.
“Give it to me!”
Edith obeyed, kneeling beside her as she read. The yellow paper slowly
crumpled in Elsie’s clenched hand, and her very lips grew white, but her
eyes blazed.
“I’m going to get up! There’s a man within me, and he shall never say
that I lay crying when his father had just died for the workers.”
Edith saw that it would be unwise to protest. She helped her dress, and
they both went into the living room. Elsie spoke.
“Dr. Trench, you have been a good friend to my husband. If it had not
been for you he would have done some reckless and destructive thing. But
now he has done a reckless thing that is constructive, and he and I are
glad to pay the price.”
“I am proud to have known him, Mrs. Sereef, and proud to know you. I owe
him more than I can well explain or understand. But you will draw on me
for anything—money, counsel, or blood—so long as we both live.”
Elsie took his hand silently. Then she turned and went into the kitchen.
It is true that when she was there alone she leaned against the wall,
gasping “Saadi, Saadi,” but the evidence of her grief was not heard in
the other room.
Trench rose, and Edith walked beside him, into the hall. As they stopped,
she lifted her eyes to Trench—and Trench knew. She held out her left
hand to meet the one uninjured, but instead of taking it he put his left
arm about her, as Jaffer had put an arm about Saadi. From each person
sprang that which might still have been held in leash, for each soul—poor
discarded name for something—was mightier than the passion. She leaned
her head against his breast, and he kissed her forehead.
“You see what life is like.”
“I am not afraid. Is it worth while without me?”
“Yes! Without heaven and even without you!”
“Then take me!”
“My beautiful, we both are scarred, but you had a father, let your son
say so.”
“My great impersonal man, scars are not transmitted.”
“Thank God for that! And Jaffer has sent a ruby that shall cover yours.”
“A ruby! There should be one for Elsie, too. I saw the web of life like
an opal, full of scars. But I saw it change to a ruby, hiding them all.”