sed a moment, and went on again:

"Signor Rivarez, everything that I know of your career seems to me bad
and mischievous; and I have long believed you to be reckless and violent
and unscrupulous. To some extent I hold that opinion of you still. But
during this last fortnight you have shown me that you are a brave man
and that you can be faithful to your friends. You have made the soldiers
love and admire you, too; and not every man could have done that.
I think that perhaps I have misjudged you, and that there is in you
something better than what you show outside. To that better self in
you I appeal, and solemnly entreat you, on your conscience, to tell me
truthfully--in my place, what would you do?"

A long silence followed; then the Gadfly looked up.

"At least, I would decide my own actions for myself, and take the
consequences of them. I would not come sneaking to other people, in the
cowardly Christian way, asking them to solve my problems for me!"

The onslaught was so sudden, and its extraordinary vehemence and passion
were in such startling contrast to the languid affectation of a moment
before, that it was as though he had thrown off a mask.

"We atheists," he went on fiercely, "understand that if a man has a
thing to bear, he must bear it as best he can; and if he sinks under
it--why, so much the worse for him. But a Christian comes whining to his
God, or his saints; or, if they won't help him, to his enemies--he can
always find a back to shift his burdens on to. Isn't there a rule to go
by in your Bible, or your Missal, or any of your canting theology books,
that you must come to me to tell you what to do? Heavens and earth, man!
Haven't I enough as it is, without your laying your responsibilities on
my shoulders? Go back to your Jesus; he exacted the uttermost farthing,
and you'd better do the same. After all, you'll only be killing an
atheist--a man who boggles over 'shibboleth'; and that's no great crime,
surely!"

He broke off, panting for breath, and then burst out again:

"And YOU to talk of cruelty! Why, that p-p-pudding-headed ass couldn't
hurt me as much as you do if he tried for a year; he hasn't got the
brains. All he can think of is to pull a strap tight, and when he can't
get it any tighter he's at the end of his resources. Any fool can
do that! But you---- 'Sign your own death sentence, please; I'm too
tender-hearted to do it myself.' Oh! it would take a Christian to hit on
that--a gentle