"You think that because the disc of copper represents a fixed amount of money. Call it theft if you like. So then taking a pin would be theft."

"Perhaps so."

"But a theft so small that in any moral or legal reckoning it would not count. It would not count because your landlady would not feel it. So the paltry amount under discussion would not be felt by the company."

"You call it a paltry amount, and yet it represents the value of a life."

"My dear fellow, human life is not of much account in this world.

Governments--especially Christian Governments--sacrifice men by thousands for bits of barren territory that are not worth sixpence."

"The Creator, perhaps, sets more value on them."

"Use the word Nature and you talk sense. Only your suggestion is absolutely beside the mark. Nature puts no value on human life at all, no more than you do on the creeping things you trample to death at every step you take."

"Nature does not destroy. She only changes the form. Nothing is lost."

"Except life. That vanishes like the flame of a candle in a gust of wind."

"Vanishes! But do you know what the word means?"

"I think I do. But what is all this talk leading to? What have you got at the back of your brain? If you are going to funk the business, say so, and let me know the worst."

"I don't think I have suggested anything of the kind," Rufus replied, uneasily. "I frankly admit that I do not like the alternative, and wish that some other way of escape could be found."

"But if there is no other way?"

"Then I must meet my doom, and go into darkness disgraced and dishonoured."

"In a hundred years from now nothing will matter."

"You are not even sure of that. But, candidly, I am as ready to face death as most other men. I am not aware that I have ever proved myself a coward, but I do abhor the thought of shrinking meanly out of life by a back door in order to cheat an insurance company."

"You should have thought of all this earlier."

"I know I should. I am simply amazed at myself. But I was so certain of success that I refused to look at failure, or the possible consequences of failure."

"Exactly. But that is not my fault. I am sorry for you. More sorry than I can express. But I am powerless to help you."

"And you are not concerned at my cheating the insurance company?"

"Not in the least. I am only concerned that you do not cheat me."

"But suppose I paid you interest on the seven hundred pounds for a year or two?"

"It is not the interest I want, but the princ.i.p.al, which I must have by the first of January next, or I'm up a tree."

"But could you not borrow the amount from some other client for awhile?"

"Where am I to get security? Why don't you ask me to make you a free gift of the amount in question?"

"I don't want any free gift. At the same time, I don't want to sacrifice my life if there is any chance of saving it."

"You seem to set great store by it."

"It is all I have. And of late I have not been able to shake off the conviction that I am responsible to G.o.d for it."

"I thought as much," Muller said, with a sneer.

Rufus raised his eyes questioningly.

"Turning Christian again with Christian results," he went on. "I caught an echo of the jargon the last time I called on you, and feared you would turn coward, as all these religious people do."

"Don't let us quarrel, Muller," Rufus said, mildly. "I confess I had not much hope that you would be able to help me, so I shall return not greatly disappointed."

"I would help you a thousand times if I could," Muller replied, with a great burst of simulated friendliness, "but, alas! I cannot do impossibilities."

"Very good, I will not trouble you again."

"And you will not burst the thing up by awaking suspicion?"

"Not if I can help it."

"And take a word of advice. Get rid of those silly notions about accountability and all that rubbish. They don't become a man of your intellectual calibre."

"Thank you: we must follow the light that is in us. Good afternoon and good-bye."

"Good-bye," Muller said, lugubriously, grasping his outstretched hand.

"I'm sorry, but I'm helpless."

Rufus did not reply nor did he look back, and a moment later Muller heard his footsteps slowly descending the stairs.

CHAPTER XXVIII

THE RETURN OF THE SQUIRE

Rufus was conscious as he descended the stairs that his feelings towards Felix Muller had undergone considerable change. Felix was not the close and attached friend that he had imagined him to be. Of late he had revealed himself in a new light. It was no doubt true that he had taken considerable risks on his account, but he began to fear that these risks had not been taken on the score of friendship merely. It seemed to Rufus that the pa.s.sion for speculation and the desire for gain had been the chief factors in the case.

"I think he might have helped me," Rufus said to himself, regretfully.

"If he had really cared for my friendship he would have set my life before most things. I don't think my death will trouble him in the least."

At the street door he paused for a few moments, and contemplated the busy street stretching right and left. It was market-day, and the youth of the entire country side had poured itself into the town. Up and down they sauntered--lads and maidens--aimless, vacant, but entirely happy.

Hands in pockets, arms round waists, straws between teeth, caps tilted to the back of heads. The world for them was the best of all possible places, and Fore Street, Redbourne, on a market-day the most wonderful place in the world.

Suddenly the crowd divided that a pair of horses drawing an open carriage might pa.s.s up the street. The carriage was empty. The coachman and footman sat stiff and erect in blue livery, and surveyed the scene with a look of pitying condescension on their faces.