“Regan, it was fiendish to doom others to share this fate with you! Why have you selected the most pious and the most beautiful for this misery? This man’s life was a holy ambition. A dull or ordinary man would have borne the change better. Isabella had all earth’s pleasures and triumphs before her; there were others who would have lost but little. “It takes a particularly selected company to insure a great success!” answered Regan. “I have selected my people with the most special care! I could not afford to pity! If I had allowed so maudlin a sentiment to enter my soul, it would have been for Isabella!” He laughed triumphantly. It was a most exasperating sound for a dupe to hear—the knell of my hopes, for I had much to lose. My father’s house was an honorable one, our wealth was phenomenal in the age, our ships were on all seas, our name known in the world’s marts. I had all, on Earth. Here I was a useless, helpless dupe—I, Roy Lee! “It is all too terrible to be true!” said I. “You who claim such faith in an infinite Jehovah are easily depressed!” sneered Regan. “Possibly your Deity has forgotten you! I prefer to trust to blind, blundering Destiny, that soul of universes! She has neither lost nor forsaken this atom of the creation, this little star islanded in space!” Father Renaudin rose and went slowly away into the gloomy ravines. He moved as if half a century had been added to his years, leaning heavily upon his staff. His face was drawn and dreadful to look upon. “Follow him!” said Isabella, hurriedly. “He will destroy himself!” “Oh! no,” coolly replied Regan. “He is a fanatic. He believes that something almighty has great need of his human services. His narrow-fenced faith will hold him fast. His heart may break, but his soul will stand firm through every trial. These earthly superstitions are very comfortable possessions!” “I am very, very sorry for him!” whispered Isabella, turning to me; but she listened to Regan as if he had authority. I wondered why! What possible regard could that wealthy, beautiful girl of high caste have for that vagabond Regan? Then I remembered that caste was gone. We were transferred to the Age of Stone. We could select a cave, build a hearth of rocks, fry a fish and sleep. Wake, fry more fish; after years enough had passed we could die! Horrible! I rose and walked about to wake myself. It might be all a dream. It must be all a dream! In the sunlight above the clouds I saw Father Renaudin standing upon the summit of a peak. His white hair was blown on the wind; it looked like silver. Isabella had not spoken one word of regret. There was no sorrow in her eyes, no apprehension in her manner. She was as composed as if the inevitable had occurred. Father Renaudin and I blamed Regan, and we had expressed our blame in strong words. She said nothing. I went to her side and said to her: “How can you be so quiet? Do you realize your fate, your loneliness?”