if he is false to it. If he is true, he is friend. If he is wilfully false, and inimical to the fire of life and love in his own heart, then he is my enemy as well as his own."
Somers listened. He seemed to see it all and hear it all with marvellous clarity. And he believed that it was all true.
"Yes," he said, "I believe that is all true."
"What is it then that you disbelieve?"
"I don't quite believe that love is the one and only exclusive force or mystery of living inspiration. I don't quite believe that. There is something else."
Kangaroo looked at him for once overbearingly and with a sort of contempt.
"Tell me what it is," he replied briefly.
"I am not very clear myself. And, you see, what I want to say, you don't want to hear."
"Yes, I do," snapped Kangaroo.
"With your ears and your critical mind only."
"Say it, anyhow, say it."
Richard sat feeling very stupid. The communicative soul is like the ass, you can lead him to the water, but you can't make him drink.
"Why," he said, "it means an end of us and what we are, in the first place. And then a re-entry into us of the great God, who enters us from below, not from above."
Kangaroo sat bunched up like some creature watching round-eyed out of a darker corner.
"How do you mean, enters us from below?" he barked.
"Not through the spirit. Enters us from the lower self, the dark self, the phallic self, if you like."
"Enters us from the phallic self?" snapped Kangaroo sharply.
"Sacredly. The god you can never see or visualise, who stands dark on the threshold of the phallic me."
"The phallic you, my dear young friend, what is that but love?"
Richard shook his head in silence.
"No," he said, in a slow, remote voice. "I know your love, Kangaroo. Working everything from the spirit, from the head. You work the lower self as an instrument of the spirit. Now it is time for the spirit to leave us again; it is time for the Son of Man to depart, and leave
