In
its wild open savagery there seemed a stealthy linking of the joy
of life with the terror of unseen things. Sylvia smiled
complacently as she gazed with a School-of-Art appreciation at the
landscape, and then of a sudden she almost shuddered.
"It is very wild," she said to Mortimer, who had joined her; "one
could almost think that in such a place the worship of Pan had
never quite died out."
"The worship of Pan never has died out," said Mortimer. "Other
newer gods have drawn aside his votaries from time to time, but he
is the Nature-God to whom all must come back at last. He has been
called the Father of all the Gods, but most of his children have
been stillborn."
Sylvia was religious in an honest vaguely devotional kind of way,
and did not like to hear her beliefs spoken of as mere
aftergrowths, but it was at least something new and hopeful to
hear Dead Mortimer speak with such energy and conviction on any
subject.
"You don't really believe in Pan?" she asked incredulously.
"I've been a fool in most things," said Mortimer quietly, "but I'm
not such a fool as not to believe in Pan when I'm down here. And
if you're wise you won't disbelieve in him too boastfully while
you're in his country.
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