“Did I say that there was no soul?” he enquired. “On the contrary, I said that the soul was eternal. Did I say that there was no God? I said nothing about it. The soul is a part of God, and, therefore, since the part exists, the Whole, of which it is a part, exists also. It’s my belief, and, therefore, so far as I’m concerned, it’s fact. Belief is knowledge—the ultimate possible knowledge of every man at the moment of asking him what he believes. Did I deny that the soul is happy or unhappy according to its rule of itself? Not at all, though I didn’t try to explain the way in which it strikes me. You might not understand it. But I believe that its happiness or unhappiness is exactly inversely relative to the amount of alloy it gets from the things of which it is conscious. As I see them all in my own way, I believe all the articles of faith of my church, and I’m a Roman Catholic.”
“Well—I don’t see how you can,” said Bright, discontentedly.
“You’re our dear Buddhist!” put in Mrs. Bright, with a breadth of toleration peculiar to her, and becoming. “You’ve often told me the most delightful things about Buddhism, and I shall never think of you as anything but a Buddhist.”
“That’s a thoroughly logical position, mother!” laughed Bright. “Stick to it!”
“I can’t help it if my Christianity seems like Buddhism to you,” answered Griggs. “If you knew more about Buddhism, you’d see the difference very soon. But religion’s like love. It affects different people differently. It isn’t often that any two people see it in precisely the same light. When they do—”
He paused, interrupting himself. His tired eyes became suddenly dreamy, as he stared at the Persian embroidery that hung before the disused fireplace around which they were all sitting.
“What happens when they do?” asked Katharine.
“What happens, Miss Lauderdale? How should I know what happens when people who are in love see love in the same light? I’m an old bachelor, you know.” He laughed drily, being roused again.
“You’re right about one thing at all events,” said Crowdie. “It’s not often that two people love in the same way. There are five of us men here, about as radically different from each other as five men could be, I should think. It’s quite possible that we may all be more or less in love at the present moment. I’m willing to confess that I am. Don’t jump, Ham! I’m in love with my wife, and as we’re in the family I suppose I may say so, mayn’t I?”
“You needn’t be ashamed of loving Hester, my dear Walter!” cried Mrs. Bright.