"And," Arnold burst out, "ultimately, that is evidence we can test for ourselves. What did Christ say of God? Take one thing: that He was a Father, who heard and answered and cared for His creatures, for the least of them. Well, does He--I ask you, does He? Come, now, be honest. You know He doesn't. There is not a flicker of evidence in the whole vast universe that God hears or answers or cares. There are laws, great driving laws, that's all. Shove your finger in and you'll get hurt; jump right in and you'll be killed. Inevitably. Always. Screaming to God won't save you. Some bloody war's on, and a woman implores God to save her lover. Well, does He? If He turn a single bullet aside, He must disarrange the whole cosmic law. _Does He_? I ask you--does He?" Paul hid his face. He saw the past three years white as an open road before him.... "Does He?" But Manning did not seem to notice. "There's no _fatherly_ control, that's the point. Even religion squirms before the obviousness of that, and invents excuses. God maketh His rain to fall on the just and on the unjust. Pish, He does no such thing. He has nothing to do with the fall of rain, or He abdicated His power before the dawn of history." "But Somebody _must_," cried Paul. Manning dropped back into his chair. "Stop," he cried. "If we are to go on talking you must not say that. You surrender to the savage when you say that. He, poor devil, sees the lightning hit his hut: 'Somebody must be angry,' he says. Experience comes along and shows even unscientific minds the irrefragable laws of thunderstorms, and your poor fellow bleats: 'Then somebody must have caused them.' Science comes along and demonstrates without a doubt the unity of matter and the existence of the electron, and the dear Christian folds his hands: 'But God is the First Cause, the Creator.' Guesses, all of them. Guess if you want to, Kestern, but not to me. I won't. That's flat." Paul could stand it no more. He jumped up and paced restlessly about. "I see what you mean," he cried.... "Oh, and I see what she meant, too.... It was beautiful, beautiful, but a marble statue after all; and it's the end of the day; and it's fallen--fallen.... Well, the traveller has fallen too.... No wonder.... Oh, no wonder...." Manning smoked steadily. He had been unusually vehement, and was a trifle ashamed of himself. "I say, Paul," he said at last, "pull yourself together. You're not a fool." Paul stopped in his walk and stood regarding him. But he did not make an answer to that. "If you don't guess, what happens then?" Manning smiled languidly. "Well, you don't guess, that's all. It's quite simple. Perhaps there is a god; perhaps He is all that is said about Him. Perhaps.... Only we are reasonable men and we have to go upon facts, and the facts are that there is no trace of Him." "Unless very existence is a sign--the fact that things are," said Paul, catching at a straw.