spair of love. Love,
according to Him, was stronger than hate, or commandments or preaching,
or the devil himself. If He saved souls at all, He saved them by loving
them whatever they were, and I reckon He meant us to do the same. What do
you make of the woman taken in adultery, and the woman who wiped His feet
with her hair? Or of Peter? or of Judas? He saved Peter by loving him
when he thought he ought to have the Ten Commandments and hell fire
thrown at his head and I reckon He'd have saved Judas by giving him that
sop-token of love if he hadn't had a soul that could love nothing but
himself."

"What is love, Langton?" asked Peter, after a pause.

The other looked at him curiously, and laughed. "Ask the Bishops," he
said. "Don't ask me. I don't know. Living with the woman to whom you're
married because you fear to leave her, or because you get on all right,
is not love at any rate. I can't see that marriage has got much to do
with it. It's a decent convention of society at this stage of development
perhaps, and it may sign and seal love for some people. But I reckon
love's love--a big positive thing that's bigger than sin, and bigger than
the devil. I reckon that if God sees that anywhere, He's satisfied. I
don't think Cranmer's marriage service affects Him much, nor the laws
of the State. If a man cares to do without either, he runs a risk, of
course. Society's hard on a woman, and man's meant to be a gregarious
creature. But that's all there is in it."

"But how can you tell lust from love?" demanded Peter.

"You can't, I think," said Langton. "Most men can't, anyway. Women may
do, but I don't know. I reckon that what they lust after mostly is babies
and a home. I don't think they know it any more than men know that what
they're after is the gratification of a passion; but there it is. We're
sewer rats crawling up a damned long drain, if you ask me, padre! I don't
know who said it, but it's true."

They turned in their walk, and Peter looked out over the old town. In the
glow of sunset the thin iron modern spire of the cathedral had a grace
not its own, and the roofs below it showed strong and almost sentient.
One could imagine that the distant cathedral brooding over the city
heard, saw, and spoke, if in another language than the language of men.

"If that were all, Langton," said Peter suddenly, "I'd shoot myself."

"You're a queer fellow, Graham," said Langton. "I almost think you might.
I'd like to know