even after his catastrophe his grip of his soul did not
loosen. It was just that loosening that I felt now; he had less control
of the beasts that dwelt beneath the ground of his house, and he could
hear them snarl and whine, and could feel the floor quiver with the echo
of their movements.

I suddenly knew that I was afraid of him no longer.

"Now, see, Alexei Petrovitch," I said, "it isn't death that we want to
talk about now. It is a much simpler thing. It is, that you shouldn't
for your own amusement simply go in and spoil the lives of some of my
friends for nothing at all except your own stupid pride. If that's your
plan I'm going to prevent it."

"Why, Ivan Andreievitch," he cried, laughing, "this is a challenge."

"You can take it as what you please," I answered gravely.

"But, incorrigible sentimentalist," he went on, "tell me--are you,
English and moralist and believer in a good and righteous God as you
are, are you really going to encourage this abominable adultery, this
open, ruthless wrecking of a good man's home? You surprise me; this is a
new light on your otherwise rather uninteresting character."

"Never mind my character," I answered him; "all you've got to do is to
leave Vera Michailovna alone. There'll be no wrecking of homes, unless
you are the wrecker."

He put his hand on my arm again.

"Listen, Durward," he said, "I'll tell you a little story. I'm a doctor
you know, and many curious things occur within my province. Well, some
years ago I knew a man who was very miserable and very proud. His pride
resented that he should be miserable, and he was always suspecting that
people saw his weakness, and as he despised human nature, and thought
his companions fools and deserving of all that they got, and more, he
couldn't bear the thought that they should perceive that he allowed
himself to be unhappy. He coveted death. If it meant extinction he could
imagine nothing pleasanter than so restful an aloofness, quiet and apart
and alone, whilst others hurried and scrambled and pursued the
future....

"And if death did not mean extinction then he thought that he might
snatch and secure for himself something which in life had eluded him. So
he coveted death. But he was too proud to reach it by suicide. That
seemed to him a contemptible and cowardly evasion, and such an easy
solution would have denied the purpose of all his life. So he looked
about him and discovered amongst his friends a man whose char