r, and Redmain was so _very_ rich! Alas
for the man who degrades his poverty by worshiping wealth! there is no
abyss in hell too deep for him to find its bottom.

Mr. Redmain had no profession, and knew nothing of business beyond what
was necessary for understanding whether his factor or steward, or
whatever he called him, was doing well with his money--to that he gave
heed. Also, wiser than many, he took some little care not to spend at
full speed what life he had. With this view he laid down and observed
certain rules in the ordering of his pleasures, which enabled him to
keep ahead of the vice-constable for some time longer than would
otherwise have been the case. But he is one who can never finally be
outrun, and now, as Mr. Redmain was approaching the end of middle age,
he heard plainly enough the approach of the wool-footed avenger behind
him. Horrible was the inevitable to him, as horrible as to any; but it
had not yet looked frightful enough to arrest his downward rush. In his
better conditions--physical, I mean--whether he had any better moral
conditions, I can not tell--he would laugh and say, "_Gather the roses
while you may_"--heaven and earth! what roses!--but, in his worse, he
maledicted everything, and was horribly afraid of hell. When in
tolerable health, he laughed at the notion of such an out-of-the-way
place, repudiating its very existence, and, calling in all the
arguments urged by good men against the idea of an eternity of aimless
suffering, used them against the idea of any punishment after death.
Himself a bad man, he reasoned that God was too good to punish sin;
himself a proud man, he reasoned that God was too high to take heed of
him. He forgot the best argument he could have adduced--namely, that
the punishment he had had in this life had done him no good; from which
he might have been glad to argue that none would, and therefore none
would be tried. But I suppose his mother believed there was a hell, for
at such times, when from weariness he was less of an evil beast than
usual, the old-fashioned horror would inevitably raise its dinosaurian
head afresh above the slime of his consciousness; and then even his
wife, could she have seen how the soul of the man shuddered and
recoiled, would have let his brutality pass unheeded, though it was
then at its worst, his temper at such times being altogether furious.
There was no grace in him when he was ill, nor at any time, beyond a
certain cold grac