For always, when anything revives this recollection, seared into my memory, the question rises: was it merely pain, physical pain, of which we all speak so easily and lightly? It lasted only ten minutes; ten minutes by the clock, that is. For me time was annihilated. There was no past or future, but only an intolerable present, in which mind and soul were blotted out, and all of sentient existence that remained was the animal consciousness of agony. I cannot share men's stoical contempt for a Gehenna, which is nothing worse. "Mr. Lyndsay, imagine pain, worse than any ever endured on earth going on and on, for ever!" A bird, not a thrush, but one of the minor singers, lighting on a bough near us, trilled one simple but ecstatic phrase. "Do you really and truly believe, Mrs. Mostyn, that this will be the fate of any single being?" "Of any single being? Do we not know that it is what will happen to the greatest number? For what does the Book say? 'Many are called but few are chosen.'" Through the still, mild air, across the sun-steeped gardens, came the voices of the children-- "Aunt Eleanour! Aunt Eleanour!" "Many are called," she repeated, "but few are chosen; and those who are not chosen shall be cast into everlasting fire." There was a pause. She turned to look at me, and, as if struck by something in my face, said gently, soothingly: "Yes, it is a terrible thought, but only for the unregenerate. It has no terror for me. I trust it need have no terror for you. After all, how simple, how easy is the way of escape! You have only to believe." "And then?" "And then you are safe, safe for evermore. Think of that. The foolish people who wish to explain away eternal punishment, forget that at the same time they explain away eternal happiness! You will be safe now, and after death you will be in heaven for evermore." "I shall be in heaven for evermore, and always there will be hell." "Yes." "Where the others will be?" "What others? Only the wicked!" "Aunt Eleanour! Aunt Eleanour!" called the children once more. "I must go to them! But, Mr. Lyndsay, think over what I have said." And I remained and obeyed her, and beheld, entire, distinct, the spectre that drives men to madness or despair--illimitable omnipotent Malice. In its shadow the colour of the flowers was quenched, and the music of the birds rang false. Yet it wore the consecration of time and authority! What if it were true? "Mr. Lyndsay," said Denis at my elbow, "Aunt Eleanour has sent me to fetch you to tea. Mr. Lyndsay, do you hear? Why do you look so strange?" He caught my hand anxiously as he spoke, and by that little human touch the spell was broken. The phantom vanished; and, looking into the child's eyes, I felt it was a lie. CHAPTER IV CANON VERNADE'S GOSPEL There was no Mrs. de Noël in the carriage when it returned; she had gone to London to stay with Mrs. Donnithorne, whom Atherley spoke of as Aunt Henrietta, and was not expected home till Wednesday.