“You know nothing about it at all,” said she compassionately. “To love is to give oneself, to lay down one’s self, to share oneself with others, as the grass gives itself to the cattle, and the water to the thirsty land, and as the sun gives its light and warmth freely to good and bad alike.”

“It sounds utterly detestable,” said the poor, self-tormented old lord. “An existence of endless self-giving. I couldn’t bear it.” His whole life flashed before him as he spoke—one long process of crafty, calculated grasping and getting from others—all the time taking, and giving as little as possible.

“If that’s what your eternal life means, I don’t want it! Better die and cease to be.”

“Then why are you so afraid to die?” asked she steadily.

“I don’t know!” gasped he. “It’s the horror of the thought of ceasing to be, becoming nothing, of losing everything—and for ever.” The sweat broke out on his face. “Help me!” he gasped frenziedly. “Don’t let me die! Hold me—hold me! Don’t torment me in this way!”

She grasped his groping, trembling hand in hers and said gently: “I will tell you why you are afraid to die. For once I was Much-Afraid myself. You are afraid because deep down in your heart you know that you have broken the law of life, which is love, and that you will receive no forgiveness from the Judge, because all your life long you have refused to forgive others, even your own son. And it is not extinction that you really fear (though that, too, would be a dreadful thing to contemplate), but yours is the far more terrible fear that it will not be extinction—that you will continue to exist in utterly different circumstances, lacking everything which shielded your life here and which you value. You are afraid because the Judge you must meet at last is the one you have disdained and rejected all your life. Let me bring the Shepherd to you now,” she pleaded, “and everything—yes everything—can be changed before it is too late.”

“No—no—no!” shrieked the old man. “I won’t see him. Never!” He flung himself up in the bed, crying aloud in terror and hate. Doors were opened and nurses came running, just as the old man fell back unconscious on the bed.

That night Death came to old Lord Fearing as he lay in the great bed in the castle, and touching him with icy breath whispered, “Thou fool! this night is thy soul required of thee.”

Chapter 10 Mountain of Calamus (Gentleness) The Terror of Love

CHAPTER 10
Mountain of Calamus
GENTLENESS: The Terror of Love