"Thank you. I am quite collected. Apparently it is the _slave_, in
expectation of the whip, who peers at you from within my eye. Have
patience, Magnus. I am not quite acclimated to the situation. Tell me,
shall I or shall I not be compelled to commit...murder?"
"Quite possibly."
"And can you tell me _how_ this happens?"
Both of us looked simultaneously at his white hands and Magnus replied
somewhat ironically:
"No, I will not tell you that. But if you wish I will tell you
something else: I will tell you what it means to accept man to the
_very end_--it is this that is really worrying you, is it not?"
And with much coolness and a sort of secret impatience, as if
another thought were devouring his attention, he told me briefly of
a certain unwilling and terrible murderer. I do not know whether he
was telling me a fact or a dark tale created for my personal benefit,
but this was the story: It happened long ago. A certain Russian, a
political exile, a man of wide education yet deeply religious, as
often happens in Russia, escaped from _katorga_, and after long and
painful wandering over the Siberian forests, he found refuge with
some non-conformist sectarians. Huge, wooden, fresh huts in a thick
forest, surrounded by tall fences; great bearded people, large ugly
dogs--something on that order. And in his very presence, soon after
his arrival, there was to be performed a monstrous crime: these insane
mystics, under the influence of some wild religious fanaticism, were
to sacrifice an innocent _lamb_, i.e., upon a home-made altar, to
the accompaniment of hymns, they were to kill a child. Magnus did
not relate all the painful details, limiting himself solely to the
fact that it was a seven year old boy, in a new shirt, and that his
young mother witnessed the ceremony. All the reasonable arguments,
all the objections of the exile that they were about to perform a
great sacrilege, that not the mercy of the Lord awaited them but the
terrible tortures of hell, proved powerless to overcome the fierce
and dull stubbornness of the fanatics. He fell upon his knees,
begged, wept and tried to seize the knife--at that moment the victim,
stripped, was already on the table while the _mother_ was trying
desperately to control her tears and cries--but he only succeeded in
rousing the mad anger of the fanatics: they threatened to kill him,
too....
Magnus looked at me and said slowly with a peculiar calm:
"And how would you have acted in that case, Mr. Wondergood?"
"Well, I would have fought until I was killed?"
"Yes! He did better. He offered his services and with his _own_ hand,
with appropriate song, he cut the boy's throat. You are astonished?
But he said: 'Better for me to take this terrible sin and punishment
upon myself than to surrender into the arms of hell these innocent
fools.' Of course, such things happen only with Russians and, it seems
to me, he himself was somewhat deranged. He died eventually in an
insane asylum."
Following a period of silence, I asked:
"And how would you have acted, Magnus?"
And with still greater coolness, he replied:
"Really, I do not know. It would have depended on the moment. It is
quite possible I would have left those beasts, but it is also possible
that I too...human madness is extremely contagious, Mr. Wondergood!"
"Do you call it only madness?"
"I said: human madness. But it is you who are concerned in this,
Wondergood: _how_ do you like it? I am off to work. In the meantime,
devote yourself to discerning the _boundary_ of the human, which you
are now willing to accept in its entirety, and then tell me about it.
You have not changed your intention, I hope, of remaining with _us_?"
He laughed and went away, patronizingly polite. And I remained to
think. And so I think: where is the boundary?
I confess that I have begun to fear Magnus somewhat...or is this
fear one of the gifts of my complete human existence? But when
he speaks to me in this fashion I become animated with a strange
confusion, my eyes move timidly, my will is bent, as if too great and
strange a load had been put upon it. Think, man: I shake his big hand
with _reverence_ and find _joy_ in his caress! This is not true of me
before, but now, in every conversation, I perceive that this man can
go _further_ than I in everything.
I fear I _hate_ him. If I have not yet experienced love, I know not
hatred either, and it will be strange indeed if I should be compelled
to begin by hating the _father_ of Maria!... In what a fog we do
live, man! I have just merely mentioned the name of Maria, her clear
gaze has only touched my soul and already my hatred of Magnus is
extinguished (or did I only conjure it up?) and extinguished also is
my fear of man and life (or did I merely invent it?) and great joy,
great peace has descended upon me.
It is as if I were again a white schooner on the glassy ocean; as if
I held all answers in my hand and were merely too lazy to open it and
read therein, as if _immortality_ had returned to me...ah, I can
speak no more, oh, man! Let me press your hand?
April 6, 1914.
The good Toppi approves _all_ my actions. He amuses me greatly, this
good Toppi. As I expected, he has _completely_ forgotten his true
origin: he regards all my reminders of our past as jests. Sometimes
he laughs but more often he frowns as if he were hurt, for he is
religious and considers it an insult to be compared with a "horny"
devil, even in jest: he himself is now convinced that devils have
horns. His Americanism, at first pale and weak, like a pencil sketch,
has now become filled with color, and I, myself, am ready to believe
all the nonsense given out by Toppi as his life--it is so sincere
and convincing. According to _him_, he has been in my service about
fifteen years and particularly amusing it is to hear his stories of
his youth.
Apparently he, too, has been touched by the charms of _Maria_: my
decision to surrender all my money to her father astonished him much
less than I expected. He merely chewed his cigar for a moment and
asked:
"And what will he do with your money?"
"I do not know, Toppi."
He raised his brow and frowned:
"You are joking, Mr. Wondergood?"
"You see, Toppi: just now we, i.e., Magnus is occupied in converting
my estate into gold and jamming it into banks, in his name, of course.
You understand?"
"How can I fail to understand, Mr. Wondergood?"
"These are all preliminary, essential steps. What may happen further...I
do not know yet."
"Oh, you are jesting again?"
"You must remember, old man, that I myself did not know what to do
with my money. It is not money that I need but new activity. You
understand? But Magnus _knows_. I do not know yet what his plans are
but it is what Magnus said that is important to me: 'I will compel you
to work, Wondergood!' Oh, Magnus is a great man. You will see that for
yourself, Toppi!"
Toppi frowned again and replied:
"You are master of your money, Mr. Wondergood."
"Ah, you have forgotten everything, Toppi! Don't you remember about
that _play_? That I wanted to play?"
"Yes, you did say something about it. But I thought you were joking."
"No, I was not joking. I was only mistaken. They do play here but this
is not a theater. It is a gambling house and so I gave all my money
to Magnus: let him break the bank. You understand? He is the banker,
he will manage the game and I shall simply do the betting.... Quite a
life, eh?"
Apparently the old fool understood nothing. He kept raising and
lowering his eyebrows and again inquired:
"And how soon may we expect your betrothal to Signorina Maria?"
"I do not know yet, Toppi. But that is not the thing. I see you are
dissatisfied. You do not trust Magnus?"
"Oh, Signor Magnus is a worthy man. But one thing I do fear, Mr.
Wondergood, if you will permit me to be frank: he is a man who does
not believe. This seems strange to me: how can the father of Signorina
Maria be a non-believer? Is that not so? Permit me to ask: do you
intend to give anything to his Eminence?"
"That depends now on Magnus."
"Oh! On Signor Magnus? So, so. And do you know that His Eminence has
already been to see Signor Magnus? He was here a few days ago and
spent several hours in this study. You were not at home at that time."
"No, I do not know. We have not spoken about that, but have no fear:
we will find _something_ for the cardinal. Confess, old man: you are
quite enchanted with that old monkey?"
Toppi glanced at me sharply and sighed. Then he lapsed into
thought...and strange as it may seem--something akin to a monkey
appeared in his countenance, as in the cardinal's. Later, from
somewhere deep within him, there appeared a smile. It illumined his
hanging nose, rose to his eyes and blazed forth within them in two
bright, little flames, not devoid of wanton malice. I looked at him in
astonishment and even with joy: yes that was my old Toppi, risen from
his human grave.... I am convinced that his hair again has the smell
of fur instead of oil! Gently I kissed his brow--old habits cannot be
rooted out--and exclaimed:
"You are enchanting, Toppi! But _what_ was it that gave you such joy?"
"I waited to see whether he would show Maria to the cardinal?"
"Well?"
"He did not!"
"Well?"
But Toppi remained silent. And as it had come so did the smile
disappear, slowly: at first the hanging nose grew pale and became
quite indistinct, then all at once the flames within his eyes went
out--and again the old dejection, sourness and odor of church
hypocrisy buried him who had been resurrected for a moment. It would
have been useless to trouble the ashes with further questions.
This happened yesterday. A warm rain fell during the day but it
cleared up towards evening and Magnus, weary and apparently suffering
with headache, suggested that we take a ride into the Campagna. We
left our chauffeur behind, a practice peculiar to all our intimate
trips. His duties were performed by Magnus, with extraordinary skill
and daring. On this occasion, his usual daring reached the point of
audacity: despite the ever-thickening twilight and the muddy road,
Magnus drove the automobile at such mad speed that more than once did
I look up at his broad, motionless back. But that was only at first:
the presence of Maria, whom I supported with my arm (I do not dare
say embraced!) soon brought me to the loss of all my senses. I cannot
describe it all to you--so that you would really feel it--the aromatic
air of the Campagna, which caressed my face, the magnificence and
charm of our arrow-like speed, my virtual loss of all sensation of
material weight, of the complete disappearance of _body_, when I felt
myself a speeding thought, a flying gaze....
But still less can I tell you of _Maria_. Her Madonna gaze whitened
in the twilight, like marble; like the mysterious silence and perfect
beauty of marble was her gentle, sweet and wise silence. I barely
touched her slender, supple figure, but if I had been embracing within
the hollow of my hand the entire firmness of earth and sky I could
not have felt a more complete mastery of the _whole world_! Do you
know what a line is in measurement? Not much,--is that not so? And it
was only by the measure of a line that Maria bent her divine form to
me--no, no more than that! But what would you say, man, if the _sun_,
coming down from its course just one line were to come closer to you
by that distance? Would you not consider it a _miracle_?
My existence seemed unbounded, like the universe, which knows neither
your time nor distance. For a moment there gleamed before me the wall
of my unconsciousness, that unconquerable barrier against which the
spirit of him who has donned the human form beats in vain,--and as
quickly did it disappear: it was swallowed, without sound or conflict,
by the waves of my new sea. Even higher they rose, enshrouding the
world. There was no longer anything to remember for me or to know: my
new human soul remembered all and commanded all. I am a man!
What gave me the idea that I hate Magnus? I looked at this motionless,
erect and firm human back and thought that behind it a heart was
beating. I thought of how painful and terrible it was for it to remain
firm and erect and of how much pain and suffering had already fallen
to the lot of this human creature, no matter how proud it might appear
or dejected. And suddenly I realized to the extent of pain and tears,
how much I loved Magnus, this very same Magnus! He speeds so wildly
and has no fear! And the very moment I sensed this, Maria's eyes
turned upon me.... Ah, they are as bright at night as they are by day!
But at that moment there was a troubled look within them. They were
asking: Why these tears?
What could I say in reply with the aid of weak words! I silently took
Maria's hand and pressed it to my lips. And without taking her gaze
off me, shining in cold, marble luster, she quietly withdrew her
hand--and I became confused--and again gave it to me, taking off her
glove. Will you permit me to discontinue, man? I do not know who you
are, you who are reading these lines, and I rather fear you...your
swift and daring imagination. Moreover, a gentleman feels ill at ease
in speaking of his success with the ladies. Besides, it was time to
return: on the hills the lights of Tivoli were already gleaming and
Magnus reduced his speed.
We were moving quite slowly on the return trip and Magnus, grown
merry, wiping his brow with his handkerchief, now and then addressed
brief remarks to us. There is one thing I will not conceal: her
unquestionable womanliness emphasizes the completeness of my
transformation. As we walked up the broad stairs of my palazzo, amid
its princely wealth and beauty, I suddenly thought:
"Why not send all this adventure to the devil? Why not simply wed and
live like a prince in this palace? There will be freedom, children,
laughter, just earthly happiness and love."
And again I looked at Magnus. He seemed strange to me: "I will
take your money!" Then I saw the stern gaze of my Maria--and the
contradiction between her love and this plan of simple, modest
happiness was so great and emphatic that my thought did not even
require an answer. I now recollect this thought accidentally as a
curiosity of "Toppism." Let me call it "Toppism" in honor of my
perfect Toppi.
The evening was charming. At Magnus' request, Maria sang. You cannot
imagine the reverence with which Toppi listened to her singing! He
dared not utter a word to Maria, but on leaving he shook my hand long
and with particular warmth. Then, similarly, he shook the hand of
Magnus. I also rose to retire.
"Do you intend to do some work yet, Magnus?"
"No. Don't you want to go to sleep, Wondergood? Come to my room. We'll
chat a bit. Incidentally, there is a paper for you to sign. Do you
want any wine?"
"Oh, with pleasure, Magnus. I love conversation at night."
We drank the wine. Magnus, whistling something out of tune, silently
walked the carpet, while I, as usual, reclined in a chair. The Palazzo
was all silence, like a sarcophagus, and this reminded me of that
stirring night when Mad Mars raved behind the wall. Suddenly, Magnus
exclaimed loudly, without hesitation:
"The affair is progressing splendidly."
"So?"
"In two weeks everything will be completed. Your swollen, scattered
wealth, in which one can be lost as in a wood, will be transformed
into a clear, concise and exact sack of gold...to be more
correct--into a mountain. Do you know the exact estimate of your
money, Wondergood?"
"Oh, don't, Magnus. I don't want to know it. Moreover, it's your
money."
Magnus looked at me quickly and said sharply:
"No, it's yours."
I shrugged my shoulders. I did not want to argue. It was so quiet and
I so enjoyed watching this strong man silently pacing to and fro. I
still remembered his motionless, stern back, behind which I could
clearly see his heart. He continued, after a pause:
"Do you know, Wondergood, that the Cardinal has been here?"
"The old monkey? Yes, I know. What did he want?"
"The same thing. He wanted to see you but I did not feel like taking
you away from your thoughts."
"Thanks. Did you drive him out?"
Magnus replied angrily:
"I am sorry to say,--no. Don't put on airs, Wondergood: I have already
told you that we must be careful of him as long as we remain here. But
you are quite right. He is an old, shaven, useless, evil, gluttonous,
cowardly monkey!"
"Ah, ah! Then why not show him the door?"
"Impossible."
"I believe you, Magnus. And what does this king I hear about want, he
who is to visit us some of these days?"
"Ex-king. Probably the same thing. You should receive him yourself, of
course."
"But only in your presence. Otherwise I refuse. You must understand,
my friend, that from that memorable night on I have been merely your
disciple. You find it impossible to drive out the old monkey? Very
well, let him remain. You say we must receive some ex-king? Very well,
receive him. But I would rather be hanged on the first lamppost than
to do so without knowing your reason."
"You are jesting again, Wondergood."
"No, I am _quite_ serious, Magnus. But I swear by eternal salvation
that I know not what we are doing or intend to do. I am not reproaching
you. I am not even questioning you: as I have already told you, I
trust you and am ready to follow your directions. That you may not
again reproach me with levity and impracticability, I may add a little
business detail: Maria and her love are my hostages. Moreover, I
do not yet know to what you intend to devote your energy, of whose
boundlessness I am becoming more convinced each day; what plans and
ends your experience and mind have set before you. But of one thing I
have no doubt: they will be huge plans, great objects. And I, too,
shall always find something to do beside you...at any rate this will
be much better than my brainless old women and six secretaries. Why do
you refuse to believe in my modesty, as I believe in your...genius.
Imagine that I am come from some other planet, from Mars, for instance,
and wish in the most serious manner possible, to pass through the
experience of a _man_.... It is all very simple, Magnus!"
Magnus frowned at me for a few moments and suddenly broke into
laughter:
"You certainly are a pilgrim from some other planet, Wondergood!...
And what if I should devote your gold to doing evil?"
"Why? Is that so very interesting?"
"Hm!... You think _that is_ not interesting?"
"Yes, and so do you. You are too big a man to do little evil, just as
billions constitute too much money, while honestly as far as great
evil is concerned, I know not yet what _great evil_ is? Perhaps it is
really _great good_? In my recent contemplations, there...came to
me a strange thought: Who is of greater _use_ to man--he who hates or
he who loves him? You see, Magnus, how ignorant I still am of human
affairs and...how ready I am for almost anything."
Without laughter and, with what seemed to me, extreme curiosity,
Magnus measured me with his eyes, as if he were deciding the
question: is this a fool I see before me, or the foremost sage of
America? Judging by his subsequent question he was nearer the second
opinion:
"So, if I have correctly understood your words, you are afraid of
_nothing_, Mr. Wondergood?"
"I think _not_."
"And murder...many murders?"
"You remember the point you made in your story about the boy of the
_boundary_ of the human? In order that there may be no mistake, I have
moved it forward several kilometers. Will that be enough?"
Something like respect arose in Magnus' eyes...the devil take him,
though, he really considers me a clod! Continuing to pace the room, he
looked at me curiously several times, as if he were trying to recall
and verify my remark. Then, with a quick movement, he touched my
shoulders:
"You have an active mind, Wondergood. It is a pity I did not come to
know you before."
"Why?"
"Just so. I am interested to know how you will speak to the king: he
will probably suggest something very evil to you. And great evil is
great good. Is that not so?"
He again broke into laughter and shook his head in a friendly fashion.
"I don't think so. The chances are he will propose something very
silly."
"Hm!... And is that not great wisdom?" He laughed again but frowned
suddenly and added seriously: "Do not feel hurt, Wondergood. I liked
what you said very much and it is well you do not put any questions
to me at this time: I could not answer them just now. But there is
something I can say even now...in general terms, of course. Are you
listening?"
"I am all attention."
Magnus seated himself opposite me and, taking a sip of wine, asked
with strange seriousness:
"How do you regard explosives?"
"With great respect."
"Yes? That is cold praise, but, I dare say, they don't deserve
much more. Yet, there was a time when I worshiped dynamite as I do
frankness...this scar on my brow is the result of my youthful
enthusiasm. Since then I have made great strides in chemistry--and
other things--and this has cooled my zeal. The drawback of every
explosive, beginning with powder, is that the explosion is confined to
a limited space and strikes only the things near at hand: it might do
for war, of course, but it is quite inadequate where bigger things are
concerned. Besides, being a thing of material limitations, dynamite
or powder demands a constantly guiding hand: in itself, it is dumb,
blind and deaf, like a mole. To be sure, in Whitehead's mine we find
an attempt to create consciousness, giving the shell the power to
correct, so to speak, certain mistakes and to maintain a certain aim,
but that is only a pitiful parody on eyesight...."
"And you want your 'dynamite' to have consciousness, will and eyes?"
"You are right. That is what I want. And my new _dynamite_ does have
these attributes: will, consciousness, eyes."
"And what is your aim? But this sounds...terrible."
Magnus smiled faintly.
"Terrible? I fear your terror will turn to laughter when I give you
the name of my dynamite. It is _man_. Have you never looked at man
from this point of view, Wondergood?"
"I confess,--no. Does dynamite, too, belong to the domain of
psychology? This is all very ridiculous."
"Chemistry, psychology!" cried Magnus, angrily: "that is all because
knowledge has been subdivided into so many different subjects, just
as a hand with ten fingers is now a rarity. You and your Toppi--all
of us are explosive shells, some loaded and ready, others still to be
loaded. And the crux of the matter lies, you understand, in how to
load the shell and, what is still more important: how to explode it.
You know, of course, that the method of exploding various preparations
depends upon their respective compositions?"
I am not going to repeat here the lecture on explosives given me
by Magnus with great zeal and enthusiasm: it was the first time I
had seen him in such a state of excitement. Despite the absorbing
interest of the subject, as my friends the journalists would say, I
heard only half the things he was saying and concentrated most of
my attention on his skull, the skull which contained such wide and
dangerous knowledge. Whether it was due to the conviction carried in
Magnus' words, or to pure weariness--I know not which--this round
skull, blazing with the flames of his eyes, gradually assumed the
character of a real, explosive shell, of a bomb, with the fuse lit for
action.... I trembled when Magnus carelessly threw upon the table a
heavy object resembling a cake of grayish-yellow soap, and exclaimed
involuntarily:
"What's that?"
"It looks like soap or wax. But it has the force of a devil. One
half of this would be enough to blow St. Peter's into bits. It is a
capricious Devil. You may kick it about or chop it into pieces, you
may burn it in your stove, it will remain ever silent: a dynamite
shell may tear it apart yet it will not rouse its wrath. I may throw
it into the street, beneath the hoofs of horses; the dogs may bite at
it and children may play with it--and still it remains indifferent.
But I need only apply a current of high pressure to it--and the force
of the explosion will be monstrous, limitless. A strong but silly
devil!"
With equal carelessness, bordering almost upon contempt, Magnus threw
his devil back into the table drawer and looked at me sternly. My
eyebrows twitched slightly:
"I see you know your subject to perfection, and I rather like this
capricious devil of yours. But I would like to hear you discuss _man_."
Magnus laughed:
"And was it not of him I have just spoken? Is not the history of this
piece of soap the history of your _man_, who can be beaten, burned,
hacked to bits, hurled beneath the hoofs of horses, thrown to the
dogs, torn into shreds--without rousing his consuming wrath or even
his anger? But prick him with _something_--and the explosion will be
terrible...as you will learn, Mr. Wondergood."
He laughed again and rubbed his white hands with pleasure: he scarcely
remembered at that moment that human blood was already upon them.
And is it really necessary for _man_ to remember that? After a pause
commensurate with the respect due to the subject, I asked:
"And do you know how to make a _man_ explode?"
"Certainly."
"And would you consider it permissible to give me this information?"
"Unfortunately it is not so easy or convenient because the current of
high pressure would require too much elucidation, dear Wondergood."
"Can't you put it briefly?"
"Oh, briefly. Well, it is necessary to promise man some _miracle_."
"Is that all?"
"That is all."
"Lies once more? The old monkey?"
"Yes, lies again. But not the old monkey. It is not that I have in
mind. Neither crusades nor immortality in heaven. This is the period
of other miracles and other wonders. He promised resurrection to the
dead. I promise resurrection to the living. His followers were the
dead. Mine...ours--are the living."
"But the dead _did not arise_. How about the living?"
"Who _knows_? _We must make an experiment._ I cannot yet confide in
you the business end of the enterprise but I warn you: the experiment
must be conducted on a very large scale. You are not afraid, Mr.
Wondergood?"
I shrugged my shoulders indicating nothing definite. What could I
answer? This gentleman carrying upon his shoulders a bomb instead of
a head again split me into two halves, of which _man_, alas, was the
lesser one. As Wondergood, I confess without shame, I felt cruel fear
and even pain: just as if the monstrous explosion had already touched
my bones and were now breaking them...ah, but where is my endless
happiness with Maria, where the boundless peace of mind, where the
devil is that white schooner? No, as Great Immortal Curiosity, as
the genius of _play_ and eternal movement, as the rapacious gaze of
unclosing eyes I felt--I confess this, too, without shame--great joy,
bordering upon ecstasy! And with a shiver of delight I mumbled:
"What a pity I did not know that before."
"Why a pity?"
"Oh, just so. Do not forget that I am come from another planet and
am only now getting acquainted with man. So what shall we do with
this--planet--Magnus?"
He laughed again:
"You are a strange fellow, Wondergood! With this planet? We will give
it a little holiday. But enough jesting. I do not like it!" He frowned
angrily and looked at me sternly, like an old professor...the manner
of this gentleman was not distinguished by flippancy. When it seemed
to him that I had grown sufficiently serious he shook his head in
approval and asked: "Do you know, Wondergood, that the whole of Europe
is now in a very uneasy state?"
"War?"
"Possibly war. Everybody is secretly expecting it. _But_ war precedes
the belief in the kingdom of _miracles_. You understand: we have lived
too long in simple faith in the multiplication table, _we_ are tired
of the multiplication table, _we_ are filled with ennui and anxiety
on this straight road whose mire is lost in infinity. Just now all
of us are demanding some miracle and soon the day will come when we
will demand the miracle immediately! It is not I alone who wants _an
experiment on a large scale_--the whole world is preparing it...ah,
Wondergood, in truth, life would not be worth the candle if it were
not for these highly interesting moments! Highly interesting!" He
greedily rubbed his hands.
"You are pleased?"
"As a chemist, I am in ecstasy. My shells are already loaded, without
being themselves conscious of the fact, but they will know it well
enough when I apply the torch. Can you imagine the sight when _my_
dynamite will begin to explode, its consciousness, its will, its eyes
directed straight upon its goal?"
"And blood? Perhaps my reminder is out of place but I remember an
occasion when you spoke of _blood_ with much excitement."
Magnus fixed his long gaze upon me: something akin to suffering
appeared in his eyes: But this was not the prick of conscience or
pity--it was the emotion of a mature and wise man whose thoughts had
been interrupted by the foolish question of a child: "Blood," he said,
"what blood?"
I recalled to him his words on that occasion and told him of my
strange and extremely unpleasant dream about the bottles, filled with
blood instead of wine, and so easily broken. Weary, with his eyes
closed, he listened to my tale and sighed heavily.
"Blood!"--he murmured: "blood! that's nonsense. I told you many trite
things on that occasion, Wondergood, and it is not worth while to
recall them. However, if _this_ gives you fear, it is not too late."