“And therefore not becoming to men. Why should we, not being gods. borrow their attitude?” said Finlay.
“I could never kill it,” she put her work in her lap to say, “by any sudden act of violence. It would seem a kind of suicide. While it rules it is like one’s life—absolute. But to isolate it—to place it beyond the currents from the heart—to look at it, and realize it, and conquer it for what it is—I don’t think it need take so very long. And then our friendship will be beautiful without reproach.”
“I sometimes fear there may not be time enough in life,” he said. “And if I find that I must simply go—to British Columbia, I think—those mining missions would give a man his chance against himself. There is splendid work to be done there, of a rough-and-ready kind that would make it puerile to spend time in self-questioning.”
She smiled as if at a violent boy. “We can do it. We can do it here,” she said. “May I quote another religion to you? ‘From purification there arises in the Yogi a thorough discernment of the cause and nature of the body, whereupon he loses that regard which others have for the bodily form.’ Then, if he loves, he loves in spirit and in truth. I look forward to the time,” she went on calmly, “when the best that I can give you or you can give me will ride upon a glance.”
“I used to feel more drawn to the ascetic achievement and its rewards,” he remarked thoughtfully, “than I do now.”
“If I were not a Presbyterian in Canada,” she told him, “I would be a Buddhist in Burma. But I have inherited the Shorter Catechism; I must remain without the Law.”
Finlay smiled. “They are the simple,” he said. “Our Law makes wise the simple.”
Advena looked for a moment into the fire. She was listening, with admiration, to her heart; she would not be led to consider esoteric contrasts of East and West.
“Isn’t there something that appeals to you,” she said, “in the thought of just leaving it, all unsaid and all undone, a dear and tender projection upon the future that faded—a lovely thing we turned away from, until one day it was no longer there?”
“Charming,” he said, averting his eyes so that she should not see the hunger in them. “Charming—literature!”