“If all goes well you may expect such gifts as only the gods of old time were able to give!” he said, in thrilling accents,--“Those poor gods! They represented the powers that have since been put into man’s hands,--their day is done! Now, listen!--I have told you that I have commenced my work upon you,--and you are now the centre of my supreme interest. You are precisely the ‘subject’ I need,--for, understand me well!--if you had led a ‘rackety’ life, such as our modern women do--if you had been obsessed by rabid passions, hysterical sentiments, greedy sensualities or disordered health, you would have been no use to me. Your ‘cells,’ speaking of you as a battery, would, under such conditions, have been worn out, and in a worn-out state could not have been recharged. The actual renewal, or perpetual germination of cells is a possibility of future science,--but up to the present we have not arrived at the right solution of the problem. Now, perhaps, you understand why I was to some extent startled when you took that first ‘charge’ from my hand yesterday,--it was a strong and a dangerous test,--for if one or any of your ‘cells’ had been in a broken or diseased state it might have killed you instantly--as instantly as by a flash of lightning----” “And if it had,” interrupted Diana, with a smile--“what would you have done?” “I should have disposed of your remains,” he answered, coolly. “And I should have arranged things so that no one would have been any the wiser--not even my mother.” She laughed. “You really are a first-class scientist!” she said. “No pity--no remorse--no regret----!” His eyes flashed up in a sort of defiance. “Who could feel pity, remorse, or regret for the fate of one miserable unit,” he exclaimed--“one atom among millions, sacrificed in the pursuit of a glorious discovery that may fill with hope and renewed power the whole of the human race! Tens of thousands of men are slain in war and the useless holocaust is called a ‘Roll of Honour,’ but if one superfluous woman were killed in the aid of science it would be called murder! Senseless hypocrisy!--The only thing to regret would be failure! Failure to achieve result,--horrible! But success!--what matter if a hundred thousand women perished, so long as we possess the Flaming Sword!” He spoke with an almost wild excitation, and Diana began to think he must be mad. Mad with a dream of science,--mad with the overpowering force and flow of ideas too vast for the human brain! “Why,” she asked, in purposely cold and even tones--“have you chosen a woman as your ‘subject’? Why not a man?”