Not Richard. He had become part of the kingdom of God without ceasing to
be himself.

That was because she had loved him more than herself. Loving him more
than herself she had let him go.

Letting go had somehow done the trick.


XI.

I used to think there was nothing I couldn't give up for Richard.

Could I give up this? If I had to choose between losing Richard and
losing this? (I suppose it would be generally considered that I _had_
lost Richard.) If I had had to choose seven years ago, before I knew,
I'd have chosen Richard; I couldn't have helped myself. But if I had
to choose now--knowing what reality is--between losing Richard in the
way I have lost him and losing reality, absolutely and for ever, losing,
absolutely and for ever, my real self, knowing that I'd lost it?...

If there's anything in it at all, losing my real self would be losing
Richard, losing Richard's real self absolutely and for ever. Knowing
reality is knowing that you can't lose it. That or nothing.


XII.

Supposing there isn't anything in it? Supposing--Supposing--

Last night I began thinking about it again. I stripped my soul; I opened
all the windows and let my ice-cold thoughts in on the poor thing; it
stood shivering between certainty and uncertainty.

I tried to doubt away this ultimate passion, and it turned my doubt into
its own exquisite sting, the very thrill of the adventure.

Supposing there's nothing in it, nothing at all?

That's the risk you take.


XIII.

There isn't any risk. This time it was clear, clear as the black pattern
the sycamore makes on the sky. If it never came again I should remember.


THE END