"Of course not." Jill spoke with the certainty of youth--"though Heaven always sounds such a dreadfully dull place! That 'Heaven' I mean of the 'goody-goody' people, with no work to do but only eternal rest. I don't see the use of all we learn here if spiritual experience dies with the body. It's such a waste of power and so unlike Nature. Why--even the trees, you know, after centuries, turn into coal!" She drew a deep breath. "That's always so comforting! When I get the blues and feel afraid of death I like to look at the fire and believe that nothing's lost ... it all goes on, forward in the Scheme." "That's true." McTaggart's hand tightened on hers. "Bethune--over there"--he lowered his voice--"was talking the other day--we're great pals, you know--he's a chap you _can_ talk to, awfully sane--and we'd got on to religion and how it's broken up into rival camps and endless confusion--and he said: 'I haven't any particular creed and I don't go to Church, but ... it's just like this. I've always felt the Almighty's been so awfully good to me--he's cast my lot in very pleasant places, and given me health and strength and a jolly good time. It seems a dirty trick to doubt what He's planned, when He sees fit to shift me from this old Earth.'" "I like that. How nice!" Jill nodded her head. "It does sound rather like ingratitude; and, now one comes to think of it, it is cheek to question the future after this lovely world. Look at that sky there and those little pink clouds!" She spoke simply, with no lack of reverence, but rather that deeper one needing no outward show. Silence fell between the pair as the car scudded on: that truest proof of minds in perfect sympathy. The distant hills were veiling themselves in a violet haze, and in the high hedgerows the birds were still. Away to the right a deep blue line showed the river flowing along to London and the sea. Jill broke the spell first, with a little sign to attract his attention. "I'm sure I hear music--a long way off. There!" She bent her head, straining forward. "It's a band down in the valley. How funny at this hour!--and right away from everywhere!" "Territorials, perhaps." McTaggart listened too. "We're about midway, I should say, between Henley and town." For Jill's letter with the news of Roddy's return--the school having broken up through a sudden epidemic--had suggested this outing in Bethune's car on one of his rare Saturdays of holiday. They had gone to see the Cambridge crew practice for the boat race and lunched at Henley, a merry quartette. Jill's letter!--McTaggart's mind swung off at a tangent. He felt a new-born gratitude to his schoolgirl friend. Had it not been for this and Fantine's want of tact--(he could see her now holding the letter to her breast)--he must have stumbled headlong into the trap. He felt again heart-sore at the betrayal. "We're getting nearer," said Jill. "I don't think it's a band."