They were so near to the ball that Lucifer leaned his hand
against it, holding the vessel away, as men push a boat off from
a bank. Above it the cross already draped in the dark mists of
the borderland was shadowy and more awful in shape and size.

Professor Lucifer slapped his hand twice upon the surface of the
great orb as if he were caressing some enormous animal. "This is
the fellow," he said, "this is the one for my money."

"May I with all respect inquire," asked the old monk, "what on
earth you are talking about?"

"Why this," cried Lucifer, smiting the ball again, "here is the
only symbol, my boy. So fat. So satisfied. Not like that scraggy
individual, stretching his arms in stark weariness." And he
pointed up to the cross, his face dark with a grin. "I was
telling you just now, Michael, that I can prove the best part of
the rationalist case and the Christian humbug from any symbol you
liked to give me, from any instance I came across. Here is an
instance with a vengeance. What could possibly express your
philosophy and my philosophy better than the shape of that cross
and the shape of this ball? This globe is reasonable; that cross
is unreasonable. It is a four-legged animal, with one leg longer
than the others. The globe is inevitable. The cross is arbitrary.
Above all the globe is at unity with itself; the cross is
primarily and above all things at enmity with itself. The cross
is the conflict of two hostile lines, of irreconcilable
direction. That silent thing up there is essentially a collision,
a crash, a struggle in stone. Pah! that sacred symbol of yours
has actually given its name to a description of desperation and