“And then?” queried Dr. Brayle, with an ironical air.

“Then?  Why, everything is possible then!  Beauty, perfection, wisdom, progress, creativeness, and a world—­even worlds—­of splendid thought and splendid ideals, bound to lead to still more splendid realisation!  It is not difficult to imagine two brains, two minds moving so absolutely in unison that like a grand chord of music they strike harmony through hitherto dumb life-episodes—­but think of two immortal souls full of a love as deathless as themselves, conjoined in highest effort and superb attainment!—­the love of angel for angel, of god for god!  You think this ideal imaginative,—­ transcendental—­impossible!—­yet I swear to you it is the most real possibility in this fleeting mirage of a world!”

His voice thrilled with a warmth of feeling and conviction, and as I heard him speak I trembled inwardly with a sudden remorse—­a quick sense of inferiority and shame.  Why could I not let myself go?  Why did I not give the fluttering spirit within me room to expand its wings?  Something opposing,—­something inimical to my peace and happiness held me back—­and presently I began to wonder whether I should attribute it to the influence of those with whom I was temporarily associated.  I was almost confirmed in this impression when Mr. Harland’s voice, harsh and caustic as it could be when he was irritated or worsted in an argument, broke the momentary silence.

“You are more impossible now than you ever were at Oxford, Santoris!” he said—­“You out-transcend all transcendentalism!  You know, or you ought to know by this time, that there is no such thing as an immortal soul—­and if you believe otherwise you have brought yourself voluntarily into that state of blind credulity.  All science teaches us that we are the mere spawn of the planet on which we live,—­we are here to make the best of it for ourselves and for others who come after us—­and there’s an end.  What is called Love is the mere physical attraction between the two sexes—­no more,—­and it soon palls.  All that we gain we quickly cease to care for—­it is the way of humanity.”

“What a poor creation humanity is, then!” said Santoris, with a smile—­“How astonishing that it should exist at all for no higher aims than those of the ant or the mouse!  My dear Harland, if your beliefs were really sound we should be bound in common duty and charity to stop the population of the world altogether—­for the whole business is useless.  Useless and even cruel, for it is nothing but a crime to allow people to be born for no other end than extinction!  However, keep your creeds!  I thank Heaven they are not mine!”

Mr. Harland gave a slight movement of impatience.  I could see that he was disturbed in his mind.

“Let’s talk of something I can follow,” he said—­“the personal and material side of things.  Your perennial condition of health, for example.  Your apparent youth—­”