daily in my professional career, I own it even with pride: it is a

death unusually distasteful to the mind of man.'

'One more question,' said Somerset: 'you object to Lynch Law?

why?'

'It is assassination,' said the plotter calmly, but with eyebrows a

little lifted, as in wonder at the question.

'Shake hands with me,' cried Somerset. 'Thank God, I have now no

ill-feeling left; and though you cannot conceive how I burn to see

you on the gallows, I can quite contentedly assist at your

departure.'

'I do not very clearly take your meaning,' said Zero, 'but I am

sure you mean kindly. As to my departure, there is another point

to be considered. I have neglected to supply myself with funds; my

little all has perished in what history will love to relate under

the name of the Golden Square Atrocity; and without what is

coarsely if vigorously called stamps, you must be well aware it is

impossible for me to pass the ocean.'

'For me,' said Somerset, 'you have now ceased to be a man. You

have no more claim upon me than a door scraper; but the touching

confusion of your mind disarms me from extremities. Until to-day,

I always thought stupidity was funny; I now know otherwise; and

when I look upon your idiot face, laughter rises within me like a

deadly sickness, and the tears spring up into my eyes as bitter as

blood. What should this portend? I begin to doubt; I am losing

faith in scepticism. Is it possible,' he cried, in a kind of

horror of himself--'is it conceivable that I believe in right and

wrong? Already I have found myself, with incredulous surprise, to

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