'You have long been a favourite of mine,' he said; 'and I have long observed and often sought to help you.' 'What are you ?' cried Markheim: 'the devil ?' 'What I may be,' returned the other, 'cannot affect the service I propose to render you.' 'It can,' cried Markheim; 'it does! Be helped by you?
No, never; not by you! You do not know me yet; thank God, you do not know me!' 'I know you,' replied the visitant, with a sort of kind severity or rather firmness.

'I know you to the soul.' 'Know me!' cried Markheim.

'Who can do so?
My life is but a travesty and slander on myself.

I have lived to belie my nature.

All men do; all men are better than this disguise that grows about and stifles them.