"The hour has come--the black hour God meant for it. Quick, it
will soon be gone. Quick!"

And he flung the scabbard from him furiously, and stood with the
sunlight sparkling along his sword.

"You confounded fool," repeated Turnbull. "Put that thing up
again, you ass; people will come out of that house at the first
clash of the steel."

"One of us will be dead before they come," said the other,
hoarsely, "for this is the hour God meant."

"Well, I never thought much of God," said the editor of _The
Atheist_, losing all patience. "And I think less now. Never mind
what God meant. Kindly enlighten my pagan darkness as to what the
devil _you_ mean."

"The hour will soon be gone. In a moment it will be gone," said
the madman. "It is now, now, now that I must nail your
blaspheming body to the earth--now, now that I must avenge Our
Lady on her vile slanderer. Now or never. For the dreadful
thought is in my mind."

"And what thought," asked Turnbull, with frantic composure,
"occupies what you call your mind?"

"I must kill you now," said the fanatic, "because----"

"Well, because," said Turnbull, patiently.