“Well, then, I was thinking of the old, eternal difference between the present and the future.”
“You mean between life and death?” queried Morris, and she nodded, answering:
“Between life and death, and how little people see or think of it. They just live and forget that beneath them lie their fathers’ bones. They forget that in some few days—perhaps more, perhaps less—other unknown creatures will be standing above their forgotten bones, as blind, as self-seeking, as puffed up with the pride of the brief moment, and filled with the despair of their failure, the glory of their success, as they are to-night.”
“Perhaps,” suggested Morris, “they say that while they are in the world it is well to be of the world; that when they belong to the next it will be time to consider it. I am not sure that they are not right. I have heard that view,” he added, remembering a certain conversation with Mary.
“Oh, don’t think that!” she answered, almost imploringly; “for it is not true, really it is not true. Of course, the next world belongs to all, but our lot in it does not come to us by right, that must be earned.”
“The old doctrine of our Faith,” suggested Morris.
“Yes; but, as I believe, there is more behind, more which we are not told; that we must find out for ourselves with ‘groanings which cannot be uttered; by hope we are saved.’ Did not St. Paul hint at it?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that as our spirit sows, so shall it reap; as it imagines and desires, so shall it inherit. It is here that the soul must grow, not there. As the child comes into the world with a nature already formed, and its blood filled with gifts of strength or weakness, so shall the spirit come into its world wearing the garment that it has woven and which it cannot change.”
“The garment which it has woven,” said Morris. “That means free will, and how does free will chime in with your fatalism, Miss Fregelius?”