"That depends on what sort of conscience it is. And fortunately it is as
much subject to prejudice as reason itself. Every country, every nation,
has its own conscience; and the voice of immortal, unchangeable truth is
silent before a would-be truth. Thus it is, thus it ever was. What
yesterday we counted a mortal sin, to-morrow we adore. What on this bank
is just and meritorious, on the other side of a brook leads to the
halter."

"I think, however, that treachery was never, and in no place, considered
a virtue."

"I will not say even that. We live at a time when success alone
determines whether the means employed were good or bad; where the most
conscientious persons have invented for themselves a very convenient
rule--that the end sanctifies the means."

Ammalát, lost in his reflections, repeated these words, because he
approved of them. The poison of selfishness began anew to work within
him; and the words of Verkhóffsky, which he looked on as treacherous,
poured like oil on flame. "Hypocrite!" said he to himself; "your hour is
at hand!"

And meanwhile Verkhóffsky, like a victim suspecting nothing, rode side
by side with his executioner. At about eight versts from Kieként the
Caspian Sea discovered itself to them from a hill; and the thoughts of
Verkhóffsky soared above it like a swan. "Mirror of eternity!" said he,
sinking into a reverie, "why does not your aspect gladden me to-day? As
of old, the sun plays on you; and your bosom breathes, as sublimely as
of old, eternal life; but that life is not of this world. You seem to me
to-day a mournful waste; not a boat, not a sail, not a sign of man's