“Oh, I thought hell was eternal,” said Colin.
“Every moment holds eternity,” said the other. “Millions of years multiplied by millions of years are no nearer eternity than the millionth part of a second. Eternity isn’t quantity, it is quality.”
Something shone on Colin at that, as from an immense distance over stormy water there shines some steadfast beam from a harbour light. Instantly his whole will, strong in the power that possessed it, mocked and derided.
“Ah, fine durable quality,” he said.
That abyss of terror in the priest’s eyes was veiled for a moment.
“Yes, the quality of God,” he said. “Nothing else but it exists at all.”
Colin stretched himself in his chair.
“Oh damn,” he said quietly. “I’m sure I beg your pardon, Douglas, but when I try to impart a little lightness to your solemn gibberish, you flop back again. Let us quit theology or demonology, or whatever we’re talking about—I’m sure I haven’t the slightest idea what it is—and be a little more practical. Now I hear you asked to see me. What did you want to say?”
“I wanted to tell you that I am leaving Stanier to-day,” said Douglas.
Colin raised his eyebrows.