I heard it. “You grant then that I can, by an act of free choice,
move this cup,” suiting the action to the word, “this way or that way?”
“Yes, I grant it.”
“Well, let us see how far the result is produced by fixed laws.
The cup moves because certain mechanical forces are impressed on it by
my hand. My hand moves because certain forces–electric, magnetic,
or whatever ‘nerve-force’ may prove to be–are impressed on it by my
brain. This nerve-force, stored in the brain, would probably be
traceable, if Science were complete, to chemical forces supplied to the
brain by the blood, and ultimately derived from the food I eat and the
air I breathe.”
“But would not that be Fatalism? Where would Free-Will come in?”
“In choice of nerves,” replied Arthur. “The nerve-force in the brain
may flow just as naturally down one nerve as down another.
We need something more than a fixed Law of Nature to settle which nerve
shall carry it. That ‘something’ is Free-Will.”
Her eyes sparkled.” “I see what you mean!” she exclaimed.
“Human Free-Will is an exception to the system of fixed Law.
Eric said something like that. And then I think he pointed out that
God can only influence Nature by influencing Human Wills.
So that we might reasonably pray ‘give us this day our daily bread,’
because many of the causes that produce bread are under Man’s control.
But to pray for rain, or fine weather, would be as unreasonable as–”
she checked herself, as if fearful of saying something irreverent.
In a hushed, low tone, that trembled with emotion, and with the
solemnity of one in the presence of death, Arthur slowly replied
“Shalt he that contendeth with the Almighty instruct him? Shall we
‘the swarm that in the noontide beam were born,’ feeling in ourselves
the power to direct, this way or that, the forces of Nature–of Nature,
of which we form so trivial a part–shall we, in our boundless arrogance,
in our pitiful conceit, deny that power to the Ancient of Days?
Saying, to our Creator, ‘Thus far and no further. Thou madest, but
thou canst not rule!’?”
Lady Muriel had covered her face in her hands, and did not look up.
She only murmured “Thanks, thanks!” again and again.
We rose to go. Arthur said, with evident effort, “One word more.
If you would know the power of Prayer–in anything and everything that
Man can need try it. Ask, and it shall be given you. I–have tried it.
I know that God answers prayer!”
Our walk home was a silent one, till we had nearly reached the
lodgings: then Arthur murmured–and it was almost an echo of my own
thoughts–“What knowest thou, O wife, whether thou shalt save thy
husband?”
The subject was not touched on again. We sat on, talking, while hour
after hour, of this our last night together, glided away unnoticed.
He had much to tell me about India, and the new life he was going to,
and the work he hoped to do. And his great generous soul seemed so
filled with noble ambition as to have no space left for any vain regret
or selfish repining.
“Come, it is nearly morning! Arthur said at last, rising and leading
the way upstairs.
“The sun will be rising in a few minutes: and, though I have basely
defrauded you of your last chance of a night’s rest here,
I’m sure you’ll forgive me: for I really couldn’t bring myself to say
‘Good night’ sooner. And God knows whether you’ll ever see me again,
or hear of me!”
“Hear of you I am certain I shall!” I warmly responded, and quoted the
concluding lines of that strange poem ‘Waring’ :–
“Oh, never star
Was lost here, but it rose afar
Look East, where whole new thousands are!
In Vishnu-land what Avatar?”
“Aye, look Eastward!” Arthur eagerly replied, pausing at the stair-case
window, which commanded a fine view of the sea and the eastward
horizon. “The West is the fitting tomb for all the sorrow and the
sighing, all the errors and the follies of the Past: for all its
withered Hopes and all its buried Loves! From the East comes new