and was now seated with his daughter's hand within his own. I
had not seen him since the day on board the yacht, and he now seemed
to be greyer and more haggard than he was then. "Crasweller," said
I, taking him by the hand, "it is a sad thing that you and I should
quarrel after so many years of perfect friendship."

"So it is; so it is. I don't want to quarrel, Mr President."

"There shall be no quarrel. Well, Eva, how do you bear the loss of
all your English friends?"

"The loss of my English friends won't hurt me if I can only keep
those which I used to have in Britannula." I doubted whether she
alluded to me or to Jack. It might be only to me, but I thought she
looked as if she were thinking of Jack.

"Eva, my dear," said Mr Crasweller, "you had better leave us. The
President, I think, wishes to speak to me on business." Then she
came up and looked me in the face, and pressed my hand, and I knew
that she was asking for mercy for her father. The feeling was not
pleasant, seeing that I was bound by the strongest oath which the
mind can conceive not to show him mercy.

I sat for a few minutes in silence, thinking that as Mr Crasweller
had banished Eva, he would begin. But he said nothing, and would have
remained silent had I allowed him to do so. "Crasweller," I said, "it
is certainly not well that you and I should quarrel on this matter.
In your company I first learned to entertain this project, and for
years we have agreed that in it is to be found the best means for
remedying the condition of mankind."

"I had not felt then what it is to be treated as one who was already
dead."

"Does Eva treat you so?"

"Yes; with all her tenderness and all her sweet love, Eva feels that
my days are numbered unless I will boldly declare myself opposed to
your theory. She already regards me as though I were a visitant from
the other world. Her very gentleness is intolerable."

"But, Crasweller, the convictions of your mind cannot be changed."

"I do not know. I will not say that any change has taken place. But
it is certain that convictions become vague when they operate against
one's self. The desire to live is human, and therefore God-like. When
the hand of God is felt to have struck one with coming death, the
sufferer, knowing the blow to be inevitable, can reconcile himself;
but it is very hard to walk away to one's long rest while health, and
work, and means of happiness yet remain."

There was something in this