"Even if we straighten the crooked ways of life, so that there are no more starving children, no men and women broken with the struggle of life: even if we are able, by self-restraint, by greater scientific knowledge to rid the earth of those diseases that mean martyrdom to its victims; even if hate is turned to love, and vice and moral misery are banished: even if the Kingdom of Heaven does come upon this earth--even then! That will not be a Kingdom of Heaven that is Eternal! This Earth will, in time, die. This Earth will die, that we know; and with it must vanish for ever even the memory of a million years of human effort. Shall we be content with that? I fail to conceive it as rational, and therefore I cling to the _hope_ of some sort of life beyond the grave--Eternal Life. But," and here he spoke out emphatically, "I have no argument for my belief." He came and stood close beside her now, and looked down at her. "I have no argument for my belief," he repeated. "And you are content with the silence of God," he added. Then he spoke very slowly: "I must be content." If he had stretched out his hand to touch hers, it would not have meant any more than did the prolonged gaze of his eyes. The clock on the mantelpiece ticked--its voice alone striking into the silence. It seemed to tick sometimes more loudly, sometimes more softly. The Warden appeared to force himself away from his own thoughts. With his hands still grasping the back of his chair, he raised his head and stood upright. The tick of the clock fell upon his ear; a monotonous and mechanical sound--indifferent to human life and yet weighted with importance to human life; marking the moments as they passed; moments never to be recalled; steps that are leading irretrievably the human race to their far-off destiny. As the Warden's eyes watched the hands of the clock, they pointed to five minutes to eleven. A thought came to him. "All the bells are silent now," he said, "except in the safe daylight." May looked up at him. "Even 'Tom' is silent. The Clusius is not tolled now." He got up and walked along the room to the open window. There he held the curtain well aside and looked back at her. Why it was, May did not know, but it seemed imperative to her to come to him. She put her work aside and came through into the broad embrasure of the bay. Then he let the curtain fall and they stood together in the darkness. The Warden pushed out the latticed frame wider into the dark night. The air was scarcely stirring, it came in warm and damp against their faces. The quadrangle below them was dimly visible. Eastwards the sky was heavy with a great blank pale space stretching over the battlemented roof and full of the light of a moon that had just risen, but overhead a heavy cloud slowly moved westwards. They both leaned out and breathed the night air. "It will rain in a moment," said the Warden.