Hilbrook came the night after he had borrowed the book, full of talk
about it, to ask if he might keep it a little longer. Ewbert had slept
well the intervening night, and had been suffered to see Hilbrook upon
promising his wife that he would not encourage the old man to stay; but
Hilbrook stayed without encouragement. An interest had come into his
apathetic life which renewed it, and gave vitality to a whole dead world
of things. He wished to talk, and he wished even more to listen, that he
might confirm himself from Ewbert's faith and reason in the conjectures
with which his mind was filled. His eagerness as to the conditions of a
future life, now that he had begun to imagine them, was insatiable, and
Ewbert, who met it with glad sympathy, felt drained of his own spiritual
forces by the strength which he supplied to the old man. But the case
was so strange, so absorbing, so important, that he could not refuse
himself to it. He could not deny Hilbrook's claim to all that he could
give him in this sort; he was as helpless to withhold the succor he
supplied as he was to hide from Mrs. Ewbert's censoriously anxious eye
the nervous exhaustion to which it left him after each visit that
Hilbrook paid him. But there was a drain from another source of which he
would not speak to her till he could make sure that the effect was not
some trick of his own imagination.
He had been aware, in twice urging some reason upon Hilbrook, of a
certain perfunctory quality in his performance. It was as if the truth,
so vital at first, had perished in its formulation, and in the
repetition he was sensible, or he was fearful, of an insincerity, a
hollowness in the arguments he had originally employed so earnestly
against the old man's doubt. He recognized with dismay a quality of
question in his own mind, and he fancied that as Hilbrook waxed in
belief he himself waned. The conviction of a life hereafter was not
something which he was _sharing_ with Hilbrook; he was _giving_ it
absolutely, and with such entire unreserve that he was impoverishing his
own soul of its most precious possession.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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