Zero burst into tears. 'Alas!' he sobbed, 'this snaps the last
link that bound me to humanity. My friend disowns--he insults me.
I am indeed accurst.'

Somerset stood for an instant staggered by this sudden change of
front. The next moment, with a despairing gesture, he fled from
the room and from the house. The first dash of his escape carried
him hard upon half-way to the next police-office: but presently
began to droop; and before he reached the house of lawful
intervention, he fell once more among doubtful counsels. Was he an
agnostic? had he a right to act? Away with such nonsense, and let
Zero perish! ran his thoughts. And then again: had he not
promised, had he not shaken hands and broken bread? and that with
open eyes? and if so how could he take action, and not forfeit
honour? But honour? what was honour? A figment, which, in the hot
pursuit of crime, he ought to dash aside. Ay, but crime? A
figment, too, which his enfranchised intellect discarded. All day,
he wandered in the parks, a prey to whirling thoughts; all night,
patrolled the city; and at the peep of day he sat down by the
wayside in the neighbourhood of Peckham and bitterly wept. His
gods had fallen. He who had chosen the broad, daylit, unencumbered
paths of universal scepticism, found himself still the bondslave of
honour. He who had accepted life from a point of view as lofty as
the predatory eagle's, though with no design to prey; he who had
clearly recognised the common moral basis of war, of commercial
competition, and of crime; he who was prepared to help the escaping
murderer or to embrace the impenitent thief, found, to the
overthrow of all his logic, that he objected to the use of
dynamite. The dawn crept among the sleeping villas and over the