Punishment thereafter, the Cure would say. But was it not worth while
being punished, even should the Cure's fond belief in the noble fable be
true, if one saved others here? Who--God or man--had the right to take
from him the right to destroy himself, not for fear, not through despair,
but for others' sake? Had he not the right to make restitution to
Kathleen for having given her nothing but himself, whom she had learned
to despise? If he were God, he would say, Do justice and fear not. And
this was justice. Suppose he were in a battle, with all these things
behind him, and put himself, with daring and great results, in some
forlorn hope--to die; and he died, ostensibly a hero for his country,
but, in his heart of hearts, to throw his life away to save some one he
loved, not his country, which profited by his sacrifice--suppose that
were the case, what would the world say?

"He saved others, himself he could not save"--flashed through his mind,
possessed him. He could save others; but it was clear he could not save
himself. It was so simple, so kind, and so decent. And he would be
buried here in quiet, unconsecrated ground, a mystery, a tailor who,
finding he could not mend the garment of life, cast it away, and took on
himself the mantle of eternal obscurity. No reproaches would follow him;
and he would not reproach himself, for Kathleen and Billy and another
would be safe and free to live their lives.

Far, far better for Rosalie! She too would be saved--free from the peril
of his presence. For where could happiness come to her from him? He
might not love her; he might not marry her; and it were well to go now,
while yet love was not a habit, but an awakening, a realisation of life.
His death would settle this sad question for ever. To her he would be a
softening memory as time went on.