wit," chimed in the voice of
darkness. "Whoever has in him the making of a deity must learn the
nature of opposites. The soldier will not join battle without studying
the tactics of the enemy. Without experimental knowledge of both evil
and good, none but a fool would believe that man can become
all-powerful."

"From the care with which you avoid speaking the name of God, if from
no other cause, I should suppose you to be the Devil himself!"
observed Helwyse, bluntly.

"Well, profanity is vulgar! As to my being the Devil, it is too dark
here for either denial or acknowledgment to be of practical use. But
(to be serious)--about this secret--"

The voice paused interrogatively. Lucifer, speaking through Helwyse's
lips, demanded sullenly,--

"Well, what is the secret?"

What, indeed! Why, there is no such secret;--it is a bugbear! But the
moral perversion of the person who could soberly ask the question that
Helwyse asked is not so easily disposed of. It met, indeed, with full
recognition. As for the subtile voice, having accomplished its main
purpose, it began now to evade the point and to run into digressions;
until the collision came, and ended the conversation forever.

"Unfortunately," said the voice, "the secret is not such as may be
told in a word. Like all profound knowledge, it can only be
communicated by leading the learner, step by step, over the ground
traversed by the original discoverer. Let me, as a sort of
preliminary, suppose a case."

Hereupon ensued a considerable silence, and Helwyse seemed once more a
detached atom, flying through infinite darkness without guide or
control. Where was he?--what was he? Did the world exist,--the broad
earth, the sunny sky, the beauty, the sound, the order and sweet
succession of nature? Was he a shadow that had dreamed for a moment a
strange dream, and would anon be quenched, and know what had seemed
Self no more? Strangely, through the doubt and uncertainty, Helwyse
felt the pressure of his shoulders against the cabin wall, and the
touch of the dead cigar between his fingers.

The voice, resuming, restored him to a reality that seemed less
trustworthy than the doubt. The tone was not quite the same as
heretofore. The smooth mocking had given place to a hurried
excitement, alien to the philosophic temperament.

"A man kidnaps the child of his enemy, through the child to revenge
himself. Kill it?--no! he is no short-sighted bungler; he has
refinement, foresi