Meade readjusted his horned spectacles. He would have to revise his notes of the man, that was plain. Forty, or forty-five possibly, he was. Tall and large-framed, but spare, thin-cheeked, and hollow-templed, with white streaks among the close-clipped, very black, and very thick hair which showed from under his cap. A worn-looking man, a student. M-m--he had him now--a teacher of the classics in some college, possibly a young women's college.
"To get back to our steamer and your extraordinary proposition," suggested Meade; "you say that the man should actually die?"
"Surely die. And he should face death even as our highly vitalized young friend here faces life. Mr. Cadogan, coming back to us from perilous experiences, makes us share with him in every tremor, every dread, every thought he himself felt in his adventure. And how does he manage to do that? Isn't it because in the perilous moment his soul remains tranquil? If death comes, well and good--it cannot be helped; if not, then a glorious adventure. He meets danger with every faculty keyed up to the highest. Now, if a man would meet his death, as this steamer went down, in the same mood, would he not march into the shadows with a soul ennobled?"
"Then? If we are heirs in spirit even as in body will God ever allow a great spirit to become extinct?"
Meade abandoned his young-ladies'-teacher supposition. He speared the man with another glance. "Pardon me, you are not a scientist?"
Lavis smiled--for the first time. "Do I talk like one?"
"You do not believe, then, in present-day scientific methods?"
"I believe in any constructive method, but"--he betrayed a shadow of impatience--"why limit our beliefs to what can be proved with a surgeon's knife?"
Meade thought he remembered that Roman Catholic priests were on special occasions allowed to travel without the outer garb of their calling; but would a priest talk so freely to a stranger? And yet--"You must have had a religious training at some time in your life?"
Lavis smiled again, but more slowly. "You are persistent, Mr. Meade."
"I beg your pardon. It is the journalist's interviewing habit. And I thought I recalled, also----"
Lavis seemed to be waiting for Meade to finish, but Meade, who suddenly realized to what he was leading, did not finish; and Lavis turned his head so as to look squarely at Cadogan. Through the half-closed, wistful eyes Cadogan caught a gleam that he again felt was an answer to Meade's unfinished question, and yet was again meant, not for Meade, but for himself.