rest in the moment that
the future did not exist? Why not? Were not the only minutes when he
himself was really happy those when he lost himself in work, or love?
And why were they so few? For want of pressure to the square moment.
Yes! All unhappiness was fear and lack of vitality to live the present
fully. That was why love and fighting were such poignant ecstasies--they
lived their present to the full. And so it would be almost comic to say
to those young people: Go away; do nothing in this matter in which your
interest and your feelings are concerned! Don't have a present, because
you've got to have a future! And he said:

"I'd give a good deal for your power of losing yourself in the moment,
old boy!"

"That's all right," said Tod. He was examining the bark of a tree, which
had nothing the matter with it, so far as Felix could see; while his
dog, who had followed them, carefully examined Tod. Both were obviously
lost in the moment. And with a feeling of defeat Felix led the way back
to the cottage.

In the brick-floored kitchen Derek was striding up and down; while
around him, in an equilateral triangle, stood the three women, Sheila
at the window, Kirsteen by the open hearth, Nedda against the wall
opposite. Derek exclaimed at once:

"Why did you let them, Father? Why didn't you refuse to give him up?"

Felix looked at his brother. In the doorway, where his curly head nearly
touched the wood, Tod's face was puzzled, rueful. He did not answer.

"Any one could have said he wasn't here. We could have smuggled him
away. Now the brutes have got him! I don't know that, though--" And he
made suddenly for the door.

Tod did not budge. "No," he said.

Derek turned; his mother was at the other door; at the window, the two
girls.

The comedy of this scene, if there be comedy in the face of grief, was
for the moment lost on Felix.

'It's come,' he thought. 'What now?'

Derek had flung himself down at the table and was burying his head in
his hands. Sheila went up to him.

"Don't be a fool, Derek."

However right and natural that remark, it seemed inadequate.

And Felix looked at Nedda. The blue motor scarf she had worn had slipped
off her dark head; her face was white; her eyes, fixed immovably on
Derek, seemed waiting for him to recognize that she was there. The boy
broke out again:

"It was treachery! We took him in; and now we've given him up. They
wouldn't have touched US if we'd got him away. Not they