"'Pilgrim's Progress'? Ah! A fine book--a grand book! Twelve years and a half of imprisonment in Bedford Jail turned Bunyan out immortal! And here am I--_not_ in jail--but free to roam where I choose,--with twenty pounds! By Jove! I ought to be greater than Bunyan! Now 'Pilgrim's Progress' was a 'novel,' if you like!" "I thought,"--submitted Helmsley, with the well-assumed air of a man who was not very conversant with literature--"that it was a religious book?" "So it is. A religious novel. And a splendid one! But humanity's gone past that now--it wants a wider view--a bigger, broader outlook. Do you know--" and here he stopped in the middle of the rugged winding street, and looked earnestly at his companion--"do you know what I see men doing at the present day?--I see them rushing towards the verge--the very extreme edge of what they imagine to be the Actual--and from that edge getting ready to plunge--into Nothingness!" Something thrilling in his voice touched a responsive chord in Helmsley's own heart. "Why--that is where we all tend!" he said, with a quick sigh--"That is where _I_ am tending!--where _you_, in your time, must also tend--nothingness--or death!" "No!" said Reay, almost loudly--"That's not true! That's just what I deny! For me there is no 'Nothingness'--no 'death'! Space is full of creative organisms. Dissolution means re-birth. It is all life--life:--glorious life! We live--we have always lived--we _shall_ always live!" He paused, flushing a little as though half ashamed of his own enthusiasm--then, dropping his voice to its normal tone he said--"You've got me on my hobby horse--I must come off it, or I shall gallop too far! We're just at the top of the street now. Shall I leave you here?" "Please come on to the cottage,"--said Helmsley--"I'm sure Mary--Miss Deane--will give you a cup of tea." Angus Reay smiled. "I don't allow myself that luxury,"--he said. "Not when you're invited to share it with others?" "Oh yes, in that way I do--but I'm not overburdened with friends just now. A man must have more than twenty pounds to be 'asked out' anywhere!" "Well, _I_ ask you out!"--said Helmsley, smiling--"Or rather, I ask you _in_. I'm sure Miss Deane will be glad to talk to you. She is very fond of books." "I've seen her just once in the village,"--remarked Reay--"She seems to be very much respected here. And what a beautiful woman she is!" "You think so?" and Helmsley's eyes lighted with pleasure--"Well, I think so, too--but they tell me that it's only because I'm old, and apt to see everyone beautiful who is kind to me. There's a good deal in that!--there's certainly a good deal in that!"