Chapter 110

ChristmasthatyearfallingonThursday,theshopwastocloseforfourdays:Philipwrotetohisuncleaskingwhetheritwouldbeconvenientforhimtospendtheholidaysatthevicarage.HereceivedananswerfromMrs.Foster,sayingthatMr.Careywasnotwellenoughtowritehimself,butwishedtoseehisnephewandwouldbegladifhecamedown.ShemetPhilipatthedoor,andwhensheshookhandswithhim,said:

“You’llfindhimchangedsinceyouwasherelast,sir;butyou’llpretendyoudon’tnoticeanything,

won’tyou,sir?He’sthatnervousabouthimself.”

Philipnodded,andsheledhimintothedining-room.

“Here’sMr.Philip,sir.”

TheVicarofBlackstablewasadyingman.Therewasnomistakingthatwhenyoulookedatthehollowcheeksandtheshrunkenbody.Hesathuddledinthearm-chair,withhisheadstrangelythrownback,andashawloverhisshoulders.Hecouldnotwalknowwithoutthehelpofsticks,andhishandstrembledsothathecouldonlyfeedhimselfwithdifficulty.

“Hecan’tlastlongnow,”thoughtPhilip,ashelookedathim.

“Howd’youthinkI’mlooking?”askedtheVicar.“D’youthinkI’vechangedsinceyouwereherelast?”

“Ithinkyoulookstrongerthanyoudidlastsummer.”

“Itwastheheat.Thatalwaysupsetsme.”

Mr.Carey’shistoryofthelastfewmonthsconsistedinthenumberofweekshehadspentinhisbed-roomandthenumberofweekshehadspentdownstairs.Hehadahand-bellbyhissideandwhilehetalkedherangitforMrs.Foster,whosatinthenextroomreadytoattendtohiswants,toaskonwhatdayofthemonthhehadfirstlefthisroom.

“OntheseventhofNovember,sir.”

Mr.CareylookedatPhiliptoseehowhetooktheinformation.

“ButIeatwellstill,don’tI,Mrs.Foster?”

“Yes,sir,you’vegotawonderfulappetite.”

“Idon’tseemtoputonfleshthough.”

Nothinginterestedhimnowbuthishealth.Hewassetupononethingindomitablyandthatwasliving,justliving,notwithstandingthemonotonyofhislifeandtheconstantpainwhichallowedhimtosleeponlywhenhewasundertheinfluenceofmorphia.

“It’sterrible,theamountofmoneyIhavetospendondoctor’sbills.”Hetinkledhisbellagain.“Mrs.Foster,showMasterPhilipthechemist’sbill.”

Patientlyshetookitoffthechimney-pieceandhandedittoPhilip.

“That’sonlyonemonth.Iwaswonderingifasyou’redoctoringyourselfyoucouldn’tgetmethedrugscheaper.Ithoughtofgettingthemdownfromthestores,butthenthere’sthepostage.”

ThoughapparentlytakingsolittleinterestinhimthathedidnottroubletoinquirewhatPhilwasdoing,heseemedgladtohavehimthere.Heaskedhowlonghecouldstay,andwhenPhiliptoldhimhemustleaveonTuesdaymorning,expressedawishthatthevisitmighthavebeenlonger.Hetoldhimminutelyallhissymptomsandrepeatedwhatthedoctorhadsaidofhim.Hebrokeofftoringhisbell,andwhenMrs.Fostercamein,said:

“Oh,Iwasn’tsureifyouwerethere.Ionlyrangtoseeifyouwere.”

WhenshehadgoneheexplainedtoPhilipthatitmadehimuneasyifhewasnotcertainthatMrs.Fosterwaswithinearshot;sheknewexactlywhattodowithhimifanythinghappened.Philip,seeingthatshewastiredandthathereyeswereheavyfromwantofsleep,suggestedthathewasworkinghertoohard.

“Oh,nonsense,”saidtheVicar,“she’sasstrongasahorse.”Andwhennextshecameintogivehimhismedicinehesaidtoher:

“MasterPhilipsaysyou’vegottoomuchtodo,Mrs.Foster.Youlikelookingafterme,don’tyou?”

“Oh,Idon’tmind,sir.IwanttodoeverythingIcan.”

PresentlythemedicinetookeffectandMr.Careyfellasleep.PhilipwentintothekitchenandaskedMrs.Fosterwhethershecouldstandthework.Hesawthatforsomemonthsshehadhadlittlepeace.

“Well,sir,whatcanIdo?”sheanswered.“Thepooroldgentleman’ssodependentonme,and,althoughheistroublesomesometimes,youcan’thelplikinghim,canyou?I’vebeenheresomanyyearsnow,Idon’t

knowwhatIshalldowhenhecomestogo.”

Philipsawthatshewasreallyfondoftheoldman.Shewashedanddressedhim,gavehimhisfood,andwasuphalfadozentimesinthenight;forshesleptinthenextroomtohisandwheneverheawokehetinkledhislittlebelltillshecamein.Hemightdieatanymoment,buthemightliveformonths.Itwaswonderfulthatsheshouldlookafterastrangerwithsuchpatienttenderness,anditwastragicandpitifulthatsheshouldbealoneintheworldtocareforhim.

ItseemedtoPhilipthatthereligionwhichhisunclehadpreachedallhislifewasnowofnomorethanformalimportancetohim:everySundaythecuratecameandadministeredtohimHolyCommunion,andheoftenreadhisBible;butitwasclearthathelookedupondeathwithhorror.Hebelievedthatitwasthegatewaytolifeeverlasting,buthedidnotwanttoenteruponthatlife.Inconstantpain,chainedtohischairandhavinggivenupthehopeofevergettingoutintotheopenagain,likeachildinthehandsofawomantowhomhepaidwages,heclungtotheworldheknew.

InPhilip’sheadwasaquestionhecouldnotask,becausehewasawarethathisunclewouldnevergiveanybutaconventionalanswer:hewonderedwhetherattheveryend,nowthatthemachinewaspainfullywearingitselfout,theclergymanstillbelievedinimmortality;perhapsatthebottomofhissoul,notallowedtoshapeitselfintowordsincaseitbecameurgent,wastheconvictionthattherewasnoGodandafterthislifenothing.

OntheeveningofBoxingDayPhilipsatinthedining-roomwithhisuncle.Hehadtostartveryearlynextmorninginordertogettotheshopbynine,andhewastosaygood-nighttoMr.Careythen.TheVicarofBlackstablewasdozingandPhilip,lyingonthesofabythewindow,lethisbookfallonhiskneesandlookedidlyroundtheroom.Heaskedhimselfhowmuchthefurniturewouldfetch.Hehadwalkedroundthehouseandlookedatthethingshehadknownfromhischildhood;therewereafewpiecesofchinawhichmightgoforadecentpriceandPhilipwonderedifitwouldbeworthwhiletotakethemuptoLondon;butthefurniturewasoftheVictorianorder,ofmahogany,solidandugly;itwouldgofornothingatanauction.Therewerethreeorfourthousandbooks,buteveryoneknewhowbadlytheysold,anditwasnotprobablethattheywouldfetchmorethanahundredpounds.Philipdidnotknowhowmuchhisunclewouldleave,andhereckonedoutforthehundredthtimewhatwastheleastsumuponwhichhecouldfinishthecurriculumatthehospital,takehisdegree,andliveduringthetimehewishedtospendonhospitalappointments.Helookedattheoldman,sleepingrestlessly:therewasnohumanityleftinthatshrivelledface;itwasthefaceofsomequeeranimal.Philipthoughthoweasyitwouldbetofinishthatuselesslife.HehadthoughtiteacheveningwhenMrs.Fosterpreparedforhisunclethemedicinewhichwastogivehimaneasynight.Thereweretwobottles:onecontainedadrugwhichhetookregularly,andtheotheranopiateifthepaingrewunendurable.Thiswaspouredoutforhimandleftbyhisbed-side.Hegenerallytookitatthreeorfourinthemorning.Itwouldbeasimplethingtodoublethedose;hewoulddieinthenight,andnoonewouldsuspectanything;forthatwashowDoctorWigramexpectedhimtodie.Theendwouldbepainless.Philipclenchedhishandsashethoughtofthemoneyhewantedsobadly.Afewmoremonthsofthatwretchedlifecouldmatternothingtotheoldman,butthefewmoremonthsmeanteverythingtohim:hewasgettingtotheendofhisendurance,andwhenhethoughtofgoingbacktoworkinthemorningheshudderedwithhorror.Hisheartbeatquicklyatthethoughtwhichobsessedhim,andthoughhemadeanefforttoputitoutofhismindhecouldnot.Itwouldbesoeasy,so

desperatelyeasy.Hehadnofeelingfortheoldman,hehadneverlikedhim;hehadbeenselfishallhislife,selfishtohiswifewhoadoredhim,indifferenttotheboywhohadbeenputinhischarge;hewasnotacruelman,butastupid,hardman,eatenupwithasmallsensuality.Itwouldbeeasy,desperatelyeasy.Philipdidnotdare.Hewasafraidofremorse;itwouldbenogoodhavingthemoneyifheregrettedallhislifewhathehaddone.Thoughhehadtoldhimselfsooftenthatregretwasfutile,therewerecertainthingsthatcamebacktohimoccasionallyandworriedhim.Hewishedtheywerenotonhisconscience.

Hisuncleopenedhiseyes;Philipwasglad,forhelookedalittlemorehumanthen.Hewasfranklyhorrifiedattheideathathadcometohim,itwasmurderthathewasmeditating;andhewonderedifotherpeoplehadsuchthoughtsorwhetherhewasabnormalanddepraved.Hesupposedhecouldnothavedoneitwhenitcametothepoint,buttherethethoughtwas,constantlyrecurring:ifheheldhishanditwasfromfear.Hisunclespoke.

“You’renotlookingforwardtomydeath,Philip?”Philipfelthisheartbeatagainsthischest.

“Goodheavens,no.”

“That’sagoodboy.Ishouldn’tlikeyoutodothat.You’llgetalittlebitofmoneywhenIpassaway,butyoumustn’tlookforwardtoit.Itwouldn’tprofityouifyoudid.”

Hespokeinalowvoice,andtherewasacuriousanxietyinhistone.ItsentapangintoPhilip’sheart.HewonderedwhatstrangeinsightmighthaveledtheoldmantosurmisewhatstrangedesireswereinPhilip’smind.

“Ihopeyou’llliveforanothertwentyyears,”hesaid.

“Oh,well,Ican’texpecttodothat,butifItakecareofmyselfIdon’tseewhyIshouldn’tlastanotherthreeorfour.”

Hewassilentforawhile,andPhilipfoundnothingtosay.Then,asifhehadbeenthinkingitallover,theoldmanspokeagain.

“Everyonehastherighttoliveaslongashecan.”

Philipwantedtodistracthismind.

“Bytheway,IsupposeyouneverhearfromMissWilkinsonnow?”

“Yes,Ihadalettersometimethisyear.She’smarried,youknow.”

“Really?”

“Yes,shemarriedawidower.Ibelievethey’requitecomfortable.”