The other's hand tightened slowly.
"In making her the angels forgot a soul, I guess," he said.
"Then your friend did not love her." The Little Missioner's voice was
quick and decisive. "There can be no love where there is no soul."
"That is impossible. He did love her. I know it."
"I still disagree with you. Without knowing your friend, I say that he
worshipped her beauty. There were others who worshipped that same
loveliness--others who did not possess her, and who would have bartered
their souls for her had they possessed souls to barter. Is that not
true?"
"Yes, there were others. But to understand you must have known my friend
before he sank down into the pit--when he was still a man. He was a
great student. His fortune was sufficient to give him both time and
means for the pursuits he loved. He had his great library, and adjoining
it a laboratory. He wrote books which few people read because they were
filled with facts and odd theories. He believed that the world was very
old, and that there was less profit for men in discovering new luxuries
for an artificial civilization than in re-discovering a few of the great
laws and miracles buried in the dust of the past. He believed that the
nearer we get to the beginning of things, and not the farther we drift,
the clearer comprehension can we have of earth and sky and God, and the
meaning of it all.
Pages:
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25