“Yes, but Free-Will comes in there—I can _choose_ this or that; and God can influence my choice.” “Then you are not a Fatalist?” “Oh, no!” she earnestly exclaimed. “Thank God!” Arthur said to himself, but in so low a whisper that only _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 “_Shall 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?_”