burnt his house because it was made of crosses. He was found in
the river."

Lucifer was looking at him with a bitten lip.

"Is that story really true?" he asked.

"Oh, no," said Michael, airily. "It is a parable. It is a parable
of you and all your rationalists. You begin by breaking up the
Cross; but you end by breaking up the habitable world. We leave
you saying that nobody ought to join the Church against his will.
When we meet you again you are saying that no one has any will to
join it with. We leave you saying that there is no such place as
Eden. We find you saying that there is no such place as Ireland.
You start by hating the irrational and you come to hate
everything, for everything is irrational and so----"

Lucifer leapt upon him with a cry like a wild beast's. "Ah," he
screamed, "to every man his madness. You are mad on the cross.
Let it save you."

And with a herculean energy he forced the monk backwards out of
the reeling car on to the upper part of the stone ball. Michael,
with as abrupt an agility, caught one of the beams of the cross
and saved himself from falling. At the same instant Lucifer drove
down a lever and the ship shot up with him in it alone.

"Ha! ha!" he yelled, "what sort of a support do you find it, old
fellow?"