dBooks desire

And Effie, his dear little six-year-old
daughter? Well, thank God, she was too young to feel his loss for long.
By the time that she was a woman she would almost have forgotten that
she ever had a father. But how would she get on without him to guide
her? Her mother did not love children, and a growing girl would
continually remind her of her growing years. He could not tell; he could
only hope for the best.
And for himself! What would become of him after the short sharp struggle
for life? Should he find endless sleep, or what? He was a Christian, and
his life had not been worse than that of other men. Indeed, though he
would have been the last to think it, he had some redeeming virtues. But
now at the end the spiritual horizon was as dark as it had been at the
beginning. There before him were the Gates of Death, but not yet would
they roll aside and show the traveller what lay beyond their frowning
face. How could he tell? Perhaps they would not open at all. Perhaps he
now bade his last farewell to consciousness, to earth and sky and sea
and love and all lovely things.


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