Always there was something to
remind him! He could go nowhere, see nobody, summon no kind of recollection
out of the past without this coming to him. There were a thousand things
that Stephen had done, that he, Peter, had never noticed at the time. He
was haunted now with regrets, he had not made enough of him whilst he was
there! Ah! had he only known that the time was to be so short! How he would
have spent those precious, precious moments! It was as though he had flung
away, wilfully, possessions of the utmost price--cast them off as though it
had been his very intention to feel, afterwards, this burning regret. The
things in the nursery were packed away, but there remained the room, the
frieze with the dragons and princesses, the fire-place, the high broad
window. Again and again he saw babies in the streets, in the parks and
fancied that Stephen had come back again.
The thing had happened to him so swiftly that, behind reason, there lurked
the thought that perhaps, with equal suddenness, Stephen would be restored.
To come back one afternoon and to find him there! To find him lying there
on his back in his cot looking up at the ceiling, to find him labouring
unsteadily on his feet, clinging to the sides of his bed and shouting--to
find him laughing at the jumping waves in the fire--to find him!... No,
never to be found again--gone, hopelessly, cruelly, for no reason, for no
one's good or benefit--simply for some one's sport.
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