I would have given anything, then, to be heavyhearted, so that I could get this person down from there and take his life, but I could no more be heavy-hearted over such a desire than I could have sorrowed over its accomplishment. So I could only look longingly up at my master, and rave at the ill luck that denied me a heavy conscience the one only time that I had ever wanted such a thing in my life. By and by I got to musing over the hour's strange adventure, and of course my human curiosity began to work. I set myself to framing in my mind some questions for this fiend to answer. Just then one of my boys entered, leaving the door open behind him, and exclaimed: “My! what has been going on here? The bookcase is all one riddle of--” I sprang up in consternation, and shouted: “Out of this! Hurry! jump! Fly! Shut the door! Quick, or my Conscience will get away!” The door slammed to, and I locked it. I glanced up and was grateful, to the bottom of my heart, to see that my owner was still my prisoner. I said: “Hang you, I might have lost you! Children are the heedlessest creatures. But look here, friend, the boy did not seem to notice you at all; how is that?” “For a very good reason. I am invisible to all but you.” I made a mental note of that piece of information with a good deal of satisfaction. I could kill this miscreant now, if I got a chance, and no one would know it. But this very reflection made me so lighthearted that my Conscience could hardly keep his seat, but was like to float aloft toward the ceiling like a toy balloon. I said, presently: “Come, my Conscience, let us be friendly. Let us fly a flag of truce for a while. I am suffering to ask you some questions.” “Very well. Begin.” “Well, then, in the first place, why were you never visible to me before?” “Because you never asked to see me before; that is, you never asked in the right spirit and the proper form before. You were just in the right spirit this time, and when you called for your most pitiless enemy I was that person by a very large majority, though you did not suspect it.” “Well, did that remark of mine turn you into flesh and blood?” “No. It only made me visible to you. I am unsubstantial, just as other spirits are.” This remark prodded me with a sharp misgiving. If he was unsubstantial, how was I going to kill him? But I dissembled, and said persuasively: “Conscience, it isn't sociable of you to keep at such a distance. Come down and take another smoke.” This was answered with a look that was full of derision, and with this observation added: “Come where you can get at me and kill me? The invitation is declined with thanks.” “All right,” said I to myself; “so it seems a spirit can be killed, after all; there will be one spirit lacking in this world, presently, or I lose my guess.” Then I said aloud: “Friend--”