"I thought you were too wise a woman to indulge in generalities, Mrs. Carstairs." His tired voice robbed the words of offence. "And don't you know that it is never safe to prophesy what a man will do in a battle? The bravest may turn coward beneath a hail of fire--the man who is afraid may perform some deed which will entitle him--and rightly--to the coveted Victoria Cross."
"Yes." She spoke steadily, her eyes on his face. "But that's the battlefield of the world, Dr. Anstice, the material, earthly battlefield. It's the battlefield of the soul I was thinking of just now; and if I may use a quotation which has been battered out of nearly all its original fine shape by careless usage, to me the truly brave man is he who remains to the end the--'captain of his soul!'"
Her voice sank on the last words; but Anstice had caught her meaning, and he turned to her with a new light in his tired eyes.
"Mrs. Carstairs, thank you for what you've just said. Captain of his soul--yes, I've heard it often enough, but never stopped to ponder its meaning. And as the captain mustn't lose his ship if mortal man can prevent the loss, so a man must bring the ship of his soul safely into port. Is that what you meant just now?"
She smiled faintly in the moonlight, and for once there was no mockery in her smile.
"We have wandered from our original metaphor of a battlefield," she said gently, "but I like your simile of a ship better. Yes, I suppose that is what I was trying to convey--in a confused fashion, I'm afraid. We each have our voyage to complete, our ship to bring into harbour; and even though sometimes it seems about to founder"--he knew she alluded to the catastrophe of her own life--"we must not let it sink if we can keep it afloat."
For a moment there was silence between them; and again they heard the melancholy hoot of the owl, flying homewards now.
Then Anstice said slowly: "You are right, of course. But"--at last his pent-up bitterness burst its bounds and overflowed in quick, vehement speech--"it's easy enough for a man to handle his ship carefully when he has some precious thing on board--or even when he knows some welcoming voice will greet him as he enters--at last--into his haven. But the man whose ship is empty, who has no right to expect even one greeting word--is there no excuse for him if he navigate the seas carelessly?"