A curious prayer; but perhaps better than no prayer at all. For herein lies the world’s hope, that every man—the blackest sinner amongst us—is on his own extraordinary terms with the Unseen. Were we as grossly material as appears, we were lost indeed.
Meadowes’ faith truly was reduced to the minimum, and yet, and yet—to Something he made confession, assured only of this, that if any Presence listened it must be with pity. He rose from his knees and went out again into the crowded streets, filled not with any sudden resolutions of repentance, but with the determination to persist in the course he had originally planned out. He even felt a certain relief of conscience. ‘I have explained it with God,’ he found himself saying, adding a moment later, ‘If there be such an One.’ Then his thoughts seemed to fall into question and answer:
‘And doth that make all straight?’
‘Straighter: for I have said that such punishment as I deserve for this, I shall take.’
‘Did you mean what you prayed?’
‘If there are punishments in truth.’
‘Do you think there are?’
‘No: I doubt it.’
‘Then you will have your pleasure without risk?’
‘I hope for it.’