While I
puffed and gasped with fatigue and excitement, my Conscience talked to
this effect:
"My good slave, you are curiously witless--no, I mean characteristically
so. In truth, you are always consistent, always yourself, always an ass.
Other wise it must have occurred to you that if you attempted this murder
with a sad heart and a heavy conscience, I would droop under the
burdening in influence instantly. Fool, I should have weighed a ton, and
could not have budged from the floor; but instead, you are so cheerfully
anxious to kill me that your conscience is as light as a feather; hence I
am away up here out of your reach. I can almost respect a mere ordinary
sort of fool; but you pah!"
I would have given anything, then, to be heavyhearted, so that I could
get this person down from there and take his life, but I could no more be
heavy-hearted over such a desire than I could have sorrowed over its
accomplishment. So I could only look longingly up at my master, and rave
at the ill luck that denied me a heavy conscience the one only time that
I had ever wanted such a thing in my life. By and by I got to musing
over the hour's strange adventure, and of course my human curiosity began
to work. I set myself to framing in my mind some questions for this
fiend to answer. Just then one of my boys entered, leaving the door open
behind him, and exclaimed:
"My! what has been going on here? The bookcase is all one riddle of--"
I sprang up in consternation, and shouted:
"Out of this! Hurry! jump! Fly! Shut the door! Quick, or my
Conscience will get away!"
The door slammed to, and I locked it.
Pages:
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25