“There you mistake, ma’am.  I am under the most absolute and imperative obligation to serve you—­the greatest under which any being can find himself.”

“What a ridiculous, crooked little monster!” said Juliet to herself.  But she began the same moment to think whether she might not turn the creature’s devotion to good account.  She might at all events insure his silence.

“Would you be kind enough to explain yourself?” she said, now also interested in the continuance of the conversation.

“I would at once,” replied Polwarth, “had I sufficient ground for hoping you would understand my explanation.”

“I do not know that I am particularly stupid,” she returned, with a wan smile.

“I have heard to the contrary,” said Polwarth.  “Yet I can not help greatly doubting whether you will understand what I am now going to tell you.  For I will tell you—­on the chance:  I have no secrets—­that is, of my own.—­I am one of those, Mrs. Faber,” he went on after a moment’s pause, but his voice neither became more solemn in tone, nor did he cease his digging, although it got slower, “who, against the non-evidence of their senses, believe there is a Master of men, the one Master, a right perfect Man, who demands of them, and lets them know in themselves the rectitude of the demand that they also shall be right and true men, that is, true brothers to their brothers and sisters of mankind.  It is recorded too, and I believe it, that this Master said that any service rendered to one of His people was rendered to Himself.  Therefore, for love of His will, even if I had no sympathy with you, Mrs. Faber, I should feel bound to help you.  As you can not believe me interested in yourself, I must tell you that to betray your secret for the satisfaction of a love of gossip, would be to sin against my highest joy, against my own hope, against the heart of God, from which your being and mine draws the life of its every moment.”

Juliet’s heart seemed to turn sick at the thought of such a creature claiming brotherhood with her.  That it gave ground for such a claim, seemed for the moment an irresistible argument against the existence of a God.

In her countenance Polwarth read at once that he had blundered, and a sad, noble, humble smile irradiated his.  It had its effect on Juliet.  She would be generous and forgive his presumption:  she knew dwarfs were always conceited—­that wise Nature had provided them with high thoughts wherewith to add the missing cubit to their stature.  What repulsive things Christianity taught!  Her very flesh recoiled from the poor ape!

“I trust you are satisfied, ma’am,” the kobold added, after a moment’s vain expectation of a word from Juliet, “that your secret is safe with me.”

“I am,” answered Juliet, with a condescending motion of her stately neck, saying to herself in feeling if not in conscious thought,—­“After all he is hardly human!  I may accept his devotion as I would that of a dog!”