"Ob, yes--but suppose you were: would you transfer the soul and the individuality of us two, Ambrose Sault and Ronnie Morelle?" "God forgive me, I would, for you are altogether beastly!" Ronnie laughed again. There was the sound of a slamming door and a man came into the yard, squat, unshaven, a little nervous. A derby hat was on the back of his head, and in his hands, clasped behind him, was a leathern strap. "There's the hangman," said Ronnie. "Ask him what he thinks of murderers' souls! What is death, Sir John? Look at those tablets on the wall--just a few initials. Yet they sleep as soundly as the great in the Abbey under their splendid monuments. Though they were hanged by the neck until they were dead. You would like God to change us. One of those changes which Merville talked about the other night--it was a pity you weren't there." Sir John said nothing: he walked to the grille and a warder unlocked the steel door. For a second he stood and then, as the hangman went into the hall, he passed out through the opened gate. Presently two warders came from the hall and then another two, walking solemnly in slow step, and then a bound man; a great rugged figure who overshadowed the clergyman by his side. The drone of the burial service came to Ronald Morelle and he took off his hat. Sault was reciting something. His powerful voice drowned the thin voice of the minister: "It matters not how straight the Gate--" He paced in time to the metre. "How charged with punishment the scroll, "I am the master of my fate--" Nearer, and yet nearer, and then their eyes met! The debonair worldling, silk hat in hand, his hair brushed and pomaded, his immaculate cravat set faultlessly--and the other! That big gray-faced man with the mane of hair, his rough clothes and his collarless shirt! They looked at one another for a fraction of a second, eye to eye, and Ronald felt something was drawing at him, tugging at his very heart strings. The eyes of the man were luminous, appealing, terrible. And then with a crash the world stood still--all animate creation was frozen stiff, petrified, motionless, and Ronald swayed for a moment. Then a firm hand on his arm pushed him forward. He stepped forth mechanically. He had a curious, almost painful feeling of restriction. And then he realized, with a half-sob, that his hands were bound behind him, strapped so tightly that they were swollen and tingling, and warders were holding his arms. He tried to speak, but no sound came, and looking up he saw--! Once more he was looking into eyes, but they were the eyes of himself! Ronald Morelle was standing watching him with sorrow and pity. Ronald Morelle was watching himself! And then again the urgent hand pressed him forward and he paced mechanically. "----I know that my Redeemer liveth----"