"God forgive me, and show me how to
atone," I sent my plea skyward. Suddenly the conviction came that I
_should_ be shown a way of atonement, though it might be hard. I felt
lighter of heart, and went on to pray that Jack Curtis's hope might be
justified: that, no matter what happened to me, or even to Brian, Jim
Beckett might be alive, in this world, and come back safely to his
parents.
While I prayed, a sound disturbed the deep silence. It was a far-away
sound, but quickly it grew louder and drew nearer: at first a buzzing as
of all the bees in France mobilized in a bee-barrage. Then the buzzing
became a roar. I knew directly what it was: enemy aeroplanes.
I could not see them yet, but they must be close. If they were flying
very low, to search Chauny for visitors, I might be seen if I moved.
Those in the garden were better off than I, for they were screened by
the trees, but trying to join them I might attract attention to myself.
As I thought this, I wondered why I didn't decide upon the thing most
likely to solve all my problems at once. If I were killed, Brian would
grieve: but he had the Becketts to love and care for him, and--he had
Dierdre: no use disguising that fact from my intelligence, after the
episode of the dog! What a chance for me to disappear, having done for
Brian all I could do! Oh, why didn't I add another prayer to my last,
and beg God to let me die that minute?
I'll tell you why I did not pray this, Padre, and why, instead of trying
to expose my life, I wished--almost unconsciously--to save it.
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