tures. There was a shadow somewhere in
all her visions of Eric; some day she feared that the shadow would take
form, the eyes would return to watch her. . . .

The fire was so bright that the room grew no darker when she turned off
the light; and, though she placed a coloured handkerchief over her eyes,
it gave her no protection. When she pulled it impatiently away, the
glare was so fierce that she could not see the familiar bookcases and
chairs. Gradually the whole room was enveloped in a sheet of flame, and
in the midst she saw a gigantic figure on a throne.

"God," she whispered--and knew that she was dead and had come to be
judged.

The throne was familiar from an old picture in Siena; God was the
Ancient of Days, drawn by Blake for the Book of Job. Strange that, after
all, these stories were true. . . . She wondered why He was old or,
being old, why He was no older. . . . The white flame beat mercilessly
upon her eyes, and she could see that they were alone in Space.

God was waiting for her to confess. . . .

It was idle to confess when God was omniscient, and she kept her lips
obstinately closed.

But God and she were alone in Time. He had sat for an eternity before
she came to the judgement-seat; He would wait for an eternity and
condemn her for an eternity. . . .

"Vanity. . . . I suppose that's what you want me to say." She wondered
whether her voice would carry through Space; she was no bigger than
God's right hand . . . alone . . . and naked. "I've always been spoiled,
and that makes any one vain. Some allowance . . ."

It was idle to excuse herself when God was omniscient.

"I _didn't_ realize what I was doing." (God must know that she was
speaking the truth now.) "He never missed an opportunity of hurting
me--quite unfairly; I've nothing to be ashamed of before I met him. I
made up my mind to shew him I wasn't quite as bad as he thought. He . . .
fell in love with me and wanted to marry me. . . . I was taken by
surprise . . . mad. . . . I didn't know what I was saying, I told him I
couldn't marry any one who wasn't a Catholic. . . ."

Catholic . . .

Barbara stopped short to wonder what God must think of all the jarring
sects which laid claim to His exclusive revelation. The Ancient of Days,
God the Father, Jehovah, Allah. . . . She had always wondered what He
would make of His fratricidal followers. Catholic, Protestant, Orthodox.
. . . What must Christ make of the bitter fanatics who swam th