d of discussion on such
matters. But there are just one or two things I should like to say. It
is no argument, to my mind at least, to point to the existence of evil
and unhappiness among men as a proof of the absence of a superior Mercy;
for what are men that such things should not be with them? Man,
too, must own some master. If he has doubts let him look up at the
marshalling of the starry heaven, and they will vanish."

"No," said Beatrice, "I fear not. Kant said so, but before that Moliere
had put the argument in the mouth of a fool. The starry heavens no
more prove anything than does the running of the raindrops down the
window-pane. It is not a question of size and quantity."

"I might accept the illustration," answered Geoffrey; "one example of
law is as good as another for my purpose. I see in it all the working of
a living Will, but of course that is only my way of looking at it, not
yours."

"No; I am afraid," said Beatrice, "all this reasoning drawn from
material things does not touch me. That is how the Pagans made _their_
religions, and it is how Paley strives to prove his. They argued from
the Out to the In, from the material to the spiritual. It cannot be; if
Christianity is true it must stand upon spiritual feet and speak with a
spiritual voice, to be heard, not in the thunderstorm, but only in the
hearts of men. The existence of Creative Force does not demonstrate the
existence of a Redeemer; if anything, it tends to negative it, for the
power that creates is also the power which destroys. What does touch me,
however, is the thought of the multitude of the Dead. _That_ is what we
care for, not for an Eternal Force, ever creating and destroying. Think
of them all--all the souls of unheard-of races, almost animal, who
passed away so long ago. Can ours endure more than theirs, and do you
think that the spirit of an Ethiopian who died in the time of Moses is
anywhere now?"

"There was room for them all on earth," answered Geoffrey. "The universe
is wide. It does not dismay me. There are mysteries in our nature, the
nature we think we know--shall there be none in that which we know not?
Worlds die, to live again when, after millions of ages, the conditions
become once more favourable to life, and why should not a man? We
are creatures of the world, we reflect its every light and shadow, we
rejoice in its rejoicing, its every feature has a tiny parallel in us.
Why should not our fate be as its fate, and