sn't a mere matter of
life or death. It's a question of eternal torment, mind you! You
don't mean to say you're going to wait limply here till the devil comes
to fetch you."

"I can't do anything else. I've no choice."

"Come! This is 'trusting and encouraging' with a vengeance! This is
diabolism run mad!" I filled his glass with wine. "Surely, now that
you've SEEN the brute--"

"It's no good abusing him."

"You must admit there's nothing Miltonic about him, Soames."

"I don't say he's not rather different from what I expected."

"He's a vulgarian, he's a swell mobs-man, he's the sort of man who
hangs about the corridors of trains going to the Riviera and steals
ladies' jewel-cases. Imagine eternal torment presided over by HIM!"

"You don't suppose I look forward to it, do you?"

"Then why not slip quietly out of the way?"

Again and again I filled his glass, and always, mechanically, he
emptied it; but the wine kindled no spark of enterprise in him. He did
not eat, and I myself ate hardly at all. I did not in my heart believe
that any dash for freedom could save him. The chase would be swift,
the capture certain. But better anything than this passive, meek,
miserable waiting. I told Soames that for the honor of the human race
he ought to make some show of resistance. He asked what the human race
had ever done for him. "Besides," he said, "can't you understand that
I'm in his power? You saw him touch me, didn't you? There's an end of
it. I've no will. I'm sealed."

I made a gesture of despair. He went on repeating the word "sealed."
I began to realize that the wine had clouded his brain. No wonder!
Foodless he had gone into futurity, foodless he still was. I urged him
to eat, at any rate, some bread. It was maddening to think that he,
who had so much to tell, might tell nothing. "How was it all," I
asked, "yonder? Come, tell me your adventures!"

"They'd make first-rate 'copy,' wouldn't they?"

"I'm awfully sorry for you, Soames, and I make all possible allowances;
but what earthly right have you to insinuate that I should make 'copy,'
as you call it, out of you?"

The poor fellow pressed his hands to his forehead.

"I don't know," he said. "I had some reason, I know. I'll try to
remember. He sat plunged in thought.

"That's right. Try to remember everything. Eat a little more bread.
What did the reading-room look like?"

"Much as usual," he at length muttered.

"Many p