"Ah! I am always shy of strangers; and, to me, God is such a stranger!—"
"But you believe in Him, do not you? You believe that He is?"
"Of course! But that is so little!"
The Cardinal looked as if he thought it a good deal.
"Your nerves are weak," said he, after a pause. "Your organisation is too delicate. I should advise you to dwell as little as you can on these things."
"Oh, I speak of them to no one. I don't know how I came to do so now. Only, I suppose, because you are a friend and a churchman."
"I like you so to speak. Say on."
"Why, then, I will add that, apart from this fear of death, which sometimes thrills me, and especially did so last night, is a far more permanent feeling—a desire for some higher good. An intense dissatisfaction with myself and with all the things of this life."
"Do you really suppose that that feeling is peculiar to yourself? Everybody has it!—everybody who thinks and feels. I myself suffer martyrdom from it."
"Can you—a churchman—prescribe its remedy?"