it, his fear broke loose from
his control in a hoarse cry. At the sound of this the visitant returned.

'Did you call me?' he asked, pleasantly, and with that he entered the
room and closed the door behind him.

Markheim stood and gazed at him with all his eyes. Perhaps there was a
film upon his sight, but the outlines of the new comer seemed to change
and waver like those of the idols in the wavering candle-light of the
shop; and at times he thought he knew him; and at times he thought he
bore a likeness to himself; and always, like a lump of living terror,
there lay in his bosom the conviction that this thing was not of the
earth and not of God.

And yet the creature had a strange air of the commonplace, as he stood
looking on Markheim with a smile; and when he added: 'You are looking for
the money, I believe?' it was in the tones of everyday politeness.

Markheim made no answer.

'I should warn you,' resumed the other, 'that the maid has left her
sweetheart earlier than usual and will soon be here. If Mr. Markheim be
found in this house, I need not describe to him the consequences.'

'You know me?' cried the murderer.

The visitor smiled. 'You have long been a favourite of mine,' he said;
'and I have long observed and often sought to help you.'

'What are you?' cried Markheim: 'the devil?'

'What I may be,' returned the other, 'cannot affect the service I propose
to render you.'

'It can,' cried Markheim; 'it does! Be helped by you? No, never; not by
you! You do not know me yet; thank God, you do not know me!'

'I know you,' replied the visitant, with a sort of kind severity or
rather firmness. 'I know you to the soul.'

'Know me!' cried Markheim. 'Who can do so? My life is but a travesty
and slander on myself. I have lived to belie my nature. All men do; all
men are better than this disguise that grows about and stifles them. You
see each dragged away by life, like one whom bravos have seized and
muffled in a cloak. If they had their own control--if you could see
their faces, they would be altogether different, they would shine out for
heroes and saints! I am worse than most; myself is more overlaid; my
excuse is known to me and God. But, had I the time, I could disclose
myself.'

'To me?' inquired the visitant.

'To you before all,' returned the murderer. 'I supposed you were
intelligent. I thought--since you exist--you would prove a reader of the
heart. And yet you would propose