It was one of the Dean's daughters. I had met her the day
we went to the island before, and had invited her to my hut. We talked
together a little.
An hour or so passed by. I was feeling dull, and drank from the wine
poured out for me, and mixed with the others, chatting with them all.
Again I made a mistake here and there: I was on doubtful ground, and
could not tell at the moment how to answer any little civility; now and
then I talked incoherently, or even found nothing at all to say, and
this troubled me. Over by the big rock which we were using as a table
sat the Doctor, gesticulating.
"Soul--what is the soul?" he was saying. The Dean's daughter had accused
him of being a free-thinker--well, and should not a man think freely?
People imagined hell as a sort of house down under the ground, with the
devil as host--or rather as sovereign lord. Then he spoke of the altar
picture in the chapel, a figure of the Christ, with a few Jews and
Jewesses; water into wine--well and good. But Christ had a halo round
His head. And what was a halo? Simply a yellow hoop fixed on three
hairs.
Two of the ladies clasped their hands aghast, but the Doctor extricated
himself, and said jestingly:
"Sounds horrible, doesn't it? I admit it. But if you repeat it and
repeat it again to yourself seven or eight times, and then think it over
a little, it soon sounds easier.
Pages:
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70