There was a long silence after that while the two sat gazing out across the blue lake; when Helen spoke again it was to say, “Some day you must tell me all about it, David, because I can help you; but let us not talk about these dreadful things now.” She stopped again, and afterwards went on thoughtfully, “I was thinking still of what you said about immortality, and how very strange it is to think of ceasing to be. Might it not be, David, that heaven is a place not of reward, but of the same ceaseless effort as you spoke of?” “Ah, yes,” said the other, “that is the thought of 'the wages of going on.' And of course, dear, we would all like those wages; there is no thought that tempts me so much as the possibility of being able to continue the great race forever; but I don't see how we have the least right to demand it, or that the facts give us the least reason to suppose that we will get it. It seems to me simply a fantastic and arbitrary fancy; the re-creating of a worn-out life in that way. I do not think, dearest, that I am in the least justified in claiming an eternity of vision because God gives me an hour; and when I ask Him the question in my own heart I learn simply that I am a wretched, sodden creature that I do not crowd that hour with all infinity and go quite mad at the sight of the beauty that He flings wide before me.” Helen did not reply for a while, and then she asked: “And you think, David, that our life justifies itself no matter how much suffering may be in it?”