Now, with her gaze up-hung on the royal coat-of-arms, that conviction became as “sackcloth of hair” and the moon of her desire “as blood.” The stars of her hope-heaven fell unto the Earth, “even as a figtree casteth her untimely figs when shaken by a mighty wind.” All be well? “As a scroll ... when rolled away” was that sanguine possibility. Out of their places were moved her every mountain of resolve and island of faith. She had declared herself ready to pay. Above was writ the price. From out the design, as of ebony and amethyst, still shone the giant’s crown in bas-relief. The names of Japheth, Shem and Ham continued to drip in ruby lights from the horns of their respective lines. The caption beneath blazed brilliantly through its sardonyx-thin lettering. Except for the omission of two words the text read as before, “SATAN THE FIRST AND LAST” had been cut to “SATAN THE FIRST.” That so bold an announcement could be made by elision! No longer did Satan the First boast himself the Last. Through what roiled channels did his reasoning run? “But--but----” Words at last came of her consternation. “I thought there could be no birth after the first death?” He answered with guarded elation. “Someone you used to believe in proved to you to-day that laws were made to be broken. Surely I am the last whom that law of the first death could coerce--I who never have died.” “Nor were you born, Your Lowness. You say you had no mother. Never have you been of the flesh, so how can you expect----” “I am not to be classed with the flesh. I am a god,” he interrupted. “Haven’t there been children of other gods? Why, even the Great-I-Am had a morganatic son!” Through a corridor of the palace he led her and into the private wing of whose magnificence she often had heard. Upon a divan sheened over as with an embroidered altar-cloth he placed her; with one elbow crooked around the hump of her knee, lolled at her feet; with a new possessorship stroked her bare ankles and, at times, her throat and cheeks. The while, he descanted in detail upon what he now revealed as his “experiment.” Only since meeting her had he foreseen a day when he should find irksome his seat on the throne, when affairs of state would bring him greater _ennui_ than official sins _divertissement_. After The Day, when he had been acknowledged over all and the Universe had been let loose in an unending administration of outlawry, would not he, as well as his aides, be entitled to some reward of vice? And why continue in a career of perpetual exertion after his utmost had been done? As though human nature could not be trusted to increase in evil of its own impetus, once punitive bars were laid! Should not he be freed to tread the path of dalliance--to realize some such gentle vices as he had seen to satisfy the doughtiest devils of Earth?