I little dreamed then of the unforgivable injury I was fated
to do him! You see, Padre, I use the word "_fated_." That's because I've
turned coward. I try to pretend that fate has been too strong for me.
But down deep I know you were right when you said, "Our characters carve
our fate."
It was a long journey from the south to the north, where Brian was, for
in war-days trains do what they like and what nobody else likes. I
travelled for three days and nights, and when I came to my journey's
end, instead of Brian being dead as I'd seen him in a hundred hideous
dreams, the doctors held out hope that he might live. They told me this
to give me courage, before they broke the news that he would be blind. I
suppose they thought I'd be so thankful to keep my brother at any price,
that I should hardly feel the shock. But I wasn't thankful. I wasn't!
The price seemed too big. I judged Brian by myself--Brian, who so
worshipped beauty that I used to call him "Phidias!" I was sure he would
rather have gone out of this world whose face he'd loved, than stay in
it without eyes for its radiant smile. But there I made a great mistake.
Brian was magnificent. Perhaps you would have known what to expect of
him better than I knew.
Where you are, you will understand why he did not despair. I couldn't
understand then, and I scarcely can now, though living with my blind
Brian is teaching me lessons I feel unworthy to learn. It was he who
comforted me, not I him.
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