olitary, despised in the world; because he is
impotent to refute, and too stubborn to hear and suffer people a
little higher and weightier, a leetle wiser than he--why, beyond the
grave he must set his hope in vengeance. Beyond the grave--bliss for
his own shade; fire and brimstone, eternal woe for theirs. Ay, and
'tis not but for a season will he vex us, but for ever, and for ever,
and for ever--if he knoweth in the least what he meaneth by the
phrase. And this he calls 'Charity.'

"Yes, sirs, beyond the grave he would condemn us, beyond the grave--a
place of peace whereto I deem there are not many here but will be
content at length to come; and I not least content, when my duty is
done, my children provided for, and my last suspicion of fear and
folly suppressed.

"To conclude, sir--and beshrew me, gentlemen, how time doth fly in
talk!--this Christian goeth his way. We, each in accord with his
caprice and conscience, go ours. We envy him not his vapours, his
terrors, or his shameless greed of reward. Why, then, doth he envy us
our wealth, our success, our gaiety, our content? He raves. He is
haunted. What is man but as grass, and the flower of grass? Come the
sickle, he is clean gone. I can but repeat it, sir, our poor neighbour
was crazed: 'tis Christian in a word."

A sigh, a murmur of satisfaction and relief, rose from the company, as
if one and all had escaped by Mr. Atheist's lucidity out of a very
real peril.

I thanked him for his courtesy, and in some confusion turned to
Reverie with the remark that I thought I now recollected to have heard
Christian's name, but understood he had indeed arrived, at last, at
the Celestial City for which he had set out.

"Celestial twaddle, sir!" cried Mr. Obstinate hoarsely. "He went
stark, staring mad, and now is dust, as we shall soon all be, that's
certain."

Then Cruelty rose out of his chair and elbowed his way to the door. He
opened it and looked out.

"I would," he said, "I had known of this Christian before he started.
Step you down to Vanity Fair, Sir Stranger, if the mood take you; and
we'll show you as pretty a persuasion against pilgrimage as ever you
saw." He opened his mouth where he stood between me and the stars.
"... There's many more!" he added with difficulty, as if his rage was
too much for him. He spat into the air and went out.

Presently after Liveloose rose up, smiling softly, and groped after
him.

A little silence followed their departure.