Short Fiction · A Story of the Days to Come (6/6) (3/3)

For a time Denton pursued the thoughts of this spacious vision, trying in obedience to his instinct to find his place and proportion in the scheme.

“It has been chance,” he said, “it has been luck. We have come through. It happens we have come through. Not by any strength of our own⁠ ⁠…

“And yet⁠ ⁠… No. I don’t know.”

He was silent for a long time before he spoke again.

“After all⁠—there is a long time yet. There have scarcely been men for twenty thousand years⁠—and there has been life for twenty millions. And what are generations? What are generations? It is enormous, and we are so little. Yet we know⁠—we feel. We are not dumb atoms, we are part of it⁠—part of it⁠—to the limits of our strength and will. Even to die is part of it. Whether we die or live, we are in the making⁠ ⁠…

“As time goes on⁠—perhaps⁠—men will be wiser⁠ ⁠… Wiser⁠ ⁠…

“Will they ever understand?”

He became silent again. Elizabeth said nothing to these things, but she regarded his dreaming face with infinite affection. Her mind was not very active that evening. A great contentment possessed her. After a time she laid a gentle hand on his beside her. He fondled it softly, still looking out upon the spacious gold-woven view. So they sat as the sun went down. Until presently Elizabeth shivered.

Denton recalled himself abruptly from these spacious issues of his leisure, and went in to fetch her a shawl.