Then--she had seen Manella, and had naturally drawn her own conclusions, based on the girl's rich beauty which was so temptingly set within his reach.

He began to talk to himself aloud once more, picking up the thread of his broken converse where he had left it-- "If it were Morgana it would be far worse than if it were Manella!" he said--"The one is too stupid--the other too clever.

But the stupid woman would make the best wife--if I wanted one--which I do not; and the best mother, if I desired children,--which I do not.

The question is,--what DO I want?
I think I know--but supposing I get it, shall I be satisfied?
Will it fulfil my life's desire?
What IS my life's desire ?" He stood inert--his tall figure erect--his eyes full of strange and meditative earnestness, and for a moment he seemed to gather his mental forces together with an effort.

Turning towards the table where the bowl of constantly sparkling fluid danced in tiny flashing eddies within its crystal prison, he watched its movement.
"There's the clue!" he said--"so little--yet so much! Life that cannot cease--force that cannot die! For me--for me alone this secret!--to do with it what I will--to destroy or to re-create! How shall I use it?
If I could sweep the planet clean of its greedy, contentious human microbes, and found a new race I might be a power for good,--but should I care to do this?
If God does not care, why should I ?" He lost himself anew in musing--then, rousing his mind to work, he put paper, pens and ink on the table, and started writing busily--only interrupting himself once for a light meal of dry bread and milk during a stretch of six or seven hours.