silence under the merciless lash. At last this remark of his gave me a
sudden rouse:

"Two months ago, on a Tuesday, you woke up, away in the night, and fell
to thinking, with shame, about a peculiarly mean and pitiful act of yours
toward a poor ignorant Indian in the wilds of the Rocky Mountains in the
winter of eighteen hundred and--"

"Stop a moment, devil! Stop! Do you mean to tell me that even my very
thoughts are not hidden from you?"

"It seems to look like that. Didn't you think the thoughts I have just
mentioned?"

"If I didn't, I wish I may never breathe again! Look here, friend--look
me in the eye. Who are you?"

"Well, who do you think?"

"I think you are Satan himself. I think you are the devil."

"No."

"No? Then who can you be?"

"Would you really like to know?"

"Indeed I would."

"Well, I am your Conscience!"