have. I made it up twice to-day," I answered. "I made it up in the
morning that I would see yourself and your Society to the devil before I
would join it. Excuse my bluntness; but you are so extremely candid
yourself you will not mind."

"Certainly, I do not mind bluntness. Rudeness is superfluous."

"And I made it up this evening," I said, a little less aggressively,
"that I would join it if the devil himself were already in it, as I half
suspect he is."

"I like that," Brande said gravely. "That is the spirit I want in the
man who joins me."

To which I replied: "What under the sun is the object of this Society of
yours?"

"Proximately to complete our investigations--already far advanced--into
the origin of the Universe."

"And ultimately?"

"I cannot tell you now. You will not know that until you join us."

"And if your ultimate object does not suit me, I can withdraw?"

"No, it would then be too late."

"How so? I am not morally bound by an oath which I swear without full
knowledge of its consequences and responsibilities."

"Oath! The oath you swear! You swear no oath. Do you fancy you are
joining a society of Rechabites or Carmelites, or mediaeval rubbish of
that kind. Don't keep so painstakingly behind the age."

I thought for a moment over what this mysterious man had said, over the
hidden dangers in which his mad chimeras might involve the most innocent
accomplice. Then I thought of that dark-eyed, sweet-voiced, young girl,
as she lay on the green grass under the beech-tree in the wood and
out-argued me on every point. Very suddenly, and, perhaps, in a manner
somewhat grandiose, I answered him:

"I will join your Society for my own purpose, and I will quit it when I
choose."

"You have every right," Brande said carelessly. "Many have done the same
before you."

"Can you introduce me to any one who has done so?" I asked, with an
eagerness that could not be dissembled.

"I am afraid I can not."

"Or give me an address?"

"Oh yes, that is simple." He turned over a note-book until he found a
blank page. Then he drew the pencil from its loop, put the point to his
lips, and paused. He was standing with his back to the failing light, so
I could not see the expression of his mobile face. When he paused, I
knew that no ordinary doubt beset him. He stood thus for nearly a
minute. While he waited, I watched a pair of swans flit ghost-like over
the silken surface of the lake. Between us and a dark