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235
The Private Papers of Henry Ryecroft
·
George Gissing
119
As
we
sat
in
the
garden
dusk,
the
scent
of
our
pipes
mingling
with
that
of
roses,
N---
said
to
me
in
a
laughing
tone:
"Come
now,
tell
me
how
you
felt
when
you
first
heard
of
your
legacy?"
And
I
could
not
tell
him;
I
had
nothing
to
say;
no
vivid
recollection
of
the
moment
would
come
back
to
me.
I
am
afraid
N---
thought
he
had
been
indiscreet,
for
he
passed
quickly
to
another
subject.
Thinking
it
over
now,
I
see,
of
course,
that
it
would
be
impossible
to
put
into
words
the
feeling
of
that
supreme
moment
of
life.
It
was
not
joy
that
possessed
me;
I
did
not
exult;
I
did
not
lose
control
of
myself
in
any
way.
But
I
remember
drawing
one
or
two
deep
sighs,
as
if
all
at
once
relieved
of
some
distressing
burden
or
constraint.
Only
some
hours
after
did
I
begin
to
feel
any
kind
of
agitation.
That
night
I
did
not
close
my
eyes;
the
night
after
I
slept
longer
and
more
soundly
than
I
remember
to
have
done
for
a
score
of
years.
Once
or
twice
in
the
first
week
I
had
a
hysterical
feeling;
I
scarce
kept
myself
from
shedding
tears.
And
the
strange
thing
is
that
it
seems
to
have
happened
so
long
ago;
I
seem
to
have
been
a
free
man
for
many
a
twelvemonth,
instead
of
only
for
two.
Indeed,
that
is
what
I
have
often
thought
about
forms
of
true
happiness;
the
brief
are
quite
as
satisfying
as
those
that
last
long.
I
wanted,
before
my
death,
to
enjoy
liberty
from
care,
and
repose
in
a
place
I
love.
That
was
granted
me;
and,
had
I
known
it
only
for
one
whole
year,
the
sum
of
my
enjoyment
would
have
been
no
whit
less
than
if
I
live
to
savour
it
for
a
decade.
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