He took his cap and walked
noiselessly to the door of the room. As he opened it, Ethne got up.
"Don't go for a moment," she said, and she left the fireplace and came
to the centre of the room.
"The oculist at Wiesbaden?" she asked. "He gave you a hope?"
Durrance stood meditating whether he should lie or speak the truth.
"No," he said at length. "There is no hope. But I am not so helpless as
at one time I was afraid that I should be. I can get about, can't I?
Perhaps one of these days I shall go on a journey, one of the long
journeys amongst the strange people in the East."
He went from the house upon his errand. He had learned his lesson a long
time since, and the violin had taught it him. It had spoken again that
afternoon, and though with a different voice, had offered to him the
same message. The true music cannot complain.
CHAPTER XXXIV
THE END
In the early summer of next year two old men sat reading their
newspapers after breakfast upon the terrace of Broad Place. The elder of
the two turned over a sheet.
"I see Osman Digna's back at Suakin," said he. "There's likely to be
some fighting."
"Oh," said the other, "he will not do much harm.
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