I'm lost."
Walter sat down on a neighbouring stone and took Rilla's little
appealing hand.
"I'm afraid our old world has come to an end, Rilla. We've got to face
that fact."
"It's so terrible to think of Jem," pleaded Rilla. "Sometimes I forget
for a little while what it really means and feel excited and proud--and
then it comes over me again like a cold wind."
"I envy Jem!" said Walter moodily.
"Envy Jem! Oh, Walter you--you don't want to go too."
"No," said Walter, gazing straight before him down the emerald vistas of
the valley, "no, I don't want to go. That's just the trouble. Rilla, I'm
afraid to go. I'm a coward."
"You're not!" Rilla burst out angrily. "Why, anybody would be afraid to
go. You might be--why, you might be killed."
"I wouldn't mind that if it didn't hurt," muttered Walter. "I don't
think I'm afraid of death itself--it's of the pain that might come
before death--it wouldn't be so bad to die and have it over--but to
keep on dying! Rilla, I've always been afraid of pain--you know that. I
can't help it--I shudder when I think of the possibility of being
mangled or--or blinded. Rilla, I cannot face that thought. To be blind
--never to see the beauty of the world again--moonlight on Four Winds--
the stars twinkling through the fir-trees--mist on the gulf. I ought to
go--I ought to want to go--but I don't--I hate the thought of it--
I'm ashamed--ashamed.
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