in the bull-fighting ring; I, that
have been slave to every black beast who cared to set his foot on my
neck; I, that have been starved and spat upon and trampled under foot;
I, that have begged for mouldy scraps and been refused because the dogs
had the first right? Oh, what is the use of all this! How can I TELL you
what you have brought on me? And now--you love me! How much do you love
me? Enough to give up your God for me? Oh, what has He done for you,
this everlasting Jesus,--what has He suffered for you, that you should
love Him more than me? Is it for the pierced hands He is so dear to you?
Look at mine! Look here, and here, and here----"

He tore open his shirt and showed the ghastly scars.

"Padre, this God of yours is an impostor, His wounds are sham wounds,
His pain is all a farce! It is I that have the right to your heart!
Padre, there is no torture you have not put me to; if you could only
know what my life has been! And yet I would not die! I have endured it
all, and have possessed my soul in patience, because I would come
back and fight this God of yours. I have held this purpose as a shield
against my heart, and it has saved me from madness, and from the second
death. And now, when I come back, I find Him still in my place--this
sham victim that was crucified for six hours, forsooth, and rose again
from the dead! Padre, I have been crucified for five years, and I, too,
have risen from the dead. What are you going to do with me? What are you
going to do with me?"

He broke down. Montanelli sat like some stone image, or like a dead man
set upright. At first, under the fiery torrent of the Gadfly's despair,
he had quivered a little, with the automatic shrinking of the flesh,
as under the lash of a whip; but now he was quite still. After a long
silence he looked up and spoke, lifelessly, patiently:

"Arthur, will you explain to me more clearly? You confuse and terrify me
so, I can't understand. What is it you demand of me?"

The Gadfly turned to him a spectral face.

"I demand nothing. Who shall compel love? You are free to choose between
us two the one who is most dear to you. If you love Him best, choose
Him."

"I can't understand," Montanelli repeated wearily. "What is there I can
choose? I cannot undo the past."

"You have to choose between us. If you love me, take that cross off your
neck and come away with me. My friends are arranging another attempt,
and with your help they could manage it ea