“My point is,” Mr. Skale continued, “that, apart from ordinary human ties, and so forth, you have no intrinsic terror of death—­of losing your present body?”

“No, no,” was the reply, more faintly given than the rest.  “I love my life, but—­but—­” he looked about him in some confusion for the right words, still thinking of Miriam—­“but I look forward, Mr. Skale; I look forward.”  He dropped back into the depths of his armchair and puffed swiftly at the end of his extinguished cigarette, oblivious of the fact that no smoke came.

“The attitude of a brave man,” said the clergyman with approval.  Then, looking straight into the secretary’s blue eyes, he added with increased gravity:  “And therefore it would not be immoral of me to expose you to an experiment in which the penalty of a slip would be—­death?  Or you would not shrink from it yourself, provided the knowledge to be obtained seemed worth while?”

“That’s right, sir—­Mr. Skale, I mean; that’s right,” came the answer after an imperceptible pause.

The result of the talk seemed to satisfy the clergyman.  “You must think my questions very peculiar,” he said, the sternness of his face relaxing a little, “but it was necessary to understand your exact position before proceeding further.  The gravity of my undertaking demands it.  However, you must not let my words alarm you.”  He waited a moment, reflecting deeply.  “You must regard them, if you will, as a kind of test,” he resumed, searching his companion’s face with eagle eyes, “the beginning of a series of tests in which your attitude to Miriam and hers to you, so far as that goes, was the first.”

“Oh, that’s all right, Mr. Skale,” was his inadequate rejoinder; for the moment the name of the girl was introduced his thoughts instantly wandered out to find her.  The way the clergyman pronounced it increased its power, too, for no name he uttered sounded ordinary.  There seemed a curious mingling in the resonant cavity of his great mouth of the fundamental note and the overtones.

“Yes, you have the kind of courage that is necessary,” Mr. Skale was saying, half to himself, “the modesty that forgets self, and the unworldly attitude that is essential.  With your help I may encompass success; and I consider myself wonderfully fortunate to have found you, wonderfully fortunate....”

“I’m glad,” murmured Spinrobin, thinking that so far he had not learned anything very definite about his duties, or what it was he had to do to earn so substantial a salary.  Truth to tell, he did not bother much about that part of it.  He was conscious only of three main desires:  to pass the unknown tests, to learn the nature of Mr. Skale’s discovery, with the experiment involved, and—­to be with Miriam as much as possible.  The whole affair was so unusual that he had already lost the common standards of judging.  He let the sliding platform take him where it would, and he flattered himself that he was not fool enough to mistake originality for insanity.  The clergyman, dreamer and enthusiast though he might be, was as sane as other men, saner than most.