That question followed me; the very waves
seemed to be repeating it. What are the depths, the fearful depths, to
which you are being drawn? I had not looked at it in that light before.
I had been quite willing to own that I was not religious, that I was
leading a gay, easy-going kind of life, that my Sundays were spent in
bed, or in novel reading, or in rowing, or in some other amusement. I
was well aware that I looked at these things very differently from what
my mother had done, and I had even wondered sometimes, whether, if she
had been spared to me, I should have been a better fellow than I knew
myself to be. But as for feeling any real alarm or anxiety with regard
to my condition, such a thought had never for one moment crossed my
mind.
Yet if this man was right, there was real danger in my position. I was
not remaining stationary, as I had thought, but I was being drawn by
unseen forces towards something worse, towards the depths, the fearful
depths, of which he had spoken.
At times I wished I had never come to Runswick Bay to be made so
uncomfortable; at other times I wondered if I had been brought there on
purpose to hear those words.
Pages:
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73