but at the same time she gave him a
stealthy glance of passionate appreciation; and then her face took on a
melancholy cast, her whole figure drooped imperceptibly.

"But you were coming back here anyhow?" she asked.

"Yes. I was only waiting for Davidson. Yes, I was coming back here, to
these ruins--to Wang, who perhaps did not expect to see me again. It's
impossible to guess at the way that Chinaman draws his conclusions, and
how he looks upon one."

"Don't talk about him. He makes me feel uncomfortable. Talk about
yourself!"

"About myself? I see you are still busy with the mystery of my existence
here; but it isn't at all mysterious. Primarily the man with the quill
pen in his hand in that picture you so often look at is responsible for
my existence. He is also responsible for what my existence is, or
rather has been. He was a great man in his way. I don't know much of his
history. I suppose he began like other people; took fine words for good,
ringing coin and noble ideals for valuable banknotes. He was a great
master of both, himself, by the way. Later he discovered--how am I to
explain it to you? Suppose the world were a factory and all mankind
workmen in it. Well, he discovered that the wages were not good enough.
That they were paid in counterfeit money."

"I see!" the girl said slowly.

"Do you?"

Heyst, who had been speaking as if to himself, looked up curiously.

"It wasn't a new discovery, but he brought his capacity for scorn to
bear on it. It was immense. It ought to have withered this globe. I
don't know how many minds he convinced. But my mind was very young then,
and youth I suppose can be easily seduced--even by a negation. He was
very ruthless, and yet he was not without pity. He dominated me without
difficulty. A heartless man could not have done so. Even to fools he was
not utterly merciless. He could be indignant, but he was too great for
flouts and jeers. What he said was not meant for the crowd; it could not
be; and I was flattered to find myself among the elect. They read his
books, but I have heard his living word. It was irresistible. It was
as if that mind were taking me into its confidence, giving me a special
insight into its mastery of despair. Mistake, no doubt. There is
something of my father in every man who lives long enough. But they
don't say anything. They can't. They wouldn't know how, or perhaps,
they wouldn't speak if they could. Man on this earth is an unforeseen
acc