“Oh, do not look so!  You appal me!  Oh, what can the matter be?  What is it you see?  Why do you stare so?  Why do you work your fingers like that?”

“Peace, woman!” I said, in a hoarse whisper.  “Look elsewhere; pay no attention to me; it is nothing—­nothing.  I am often this way.  It will pass in a moment.  It comes from smoking too much.”

My injured lord was up, wild-eyed with terror, and trying to hobble toward the door.  I could hardly breathe, I was so wrought up.  My aunt wrung her hands, and said: 

“Oh, I knew how it would be; I knew it would come to this at last!  Oh, I implore you to crush out that fatal habit while it may yet be time!  You must not, you shall not be deaf to my supplications longer!” My struggling Conscience showed sudden signs of weariness!  “Oh, promise me you will throw off this hateful slavery of tobacco!” My Conscience began to reel drowsily, and grope with his hands—­enchanting spectacle!  “I beg you, I beseech you, I implore you!  Your reason is deserting you!  There is madness in your eye!  It flames with frenzy!  Oh, hear me, hear me, and be saved!  See, I plead with you on my very knees!” As she sank before me my Conscience reeled again, and then drooped languidly to the floor, blinking toward me a last supplication for mercy, with heavy eyes.  “Oh, promise, or you are lost!  Promise, and be redeemed!  Promise!  Promise and live!” With a long-drawn sigh my conquered Conscience closed his eyes and fell fast asleep!

With an exultant shout I sprang past my aunt, and in an instant I had my lifelong foe by the throat.  After so many years of waiting and longing, he was mine at last.  I tore him to shreds and fragments.  I rent the fragments to bits.  I cast the bleeding rubbish into the fire, and drew into my nostrils the grateful incense of my burnt-offering.  At last, and forever, my Conscience was dead!

I was a free man!  I turned upon my poor aunt, who was almost petrified with terror, and shouted: 

“Out of this with your paupers, your charities, your reforms, your pestilent morals!  You behold before you a man whose life-conflict is done, whose soul is at peace; a man whose heart is dead to sorrow, dead to suffering, dead to remorse; a man without A conscience!  In my joy I spare you, though I could throttle you and never feel a pang!  Fly!”

She fled.  Since that day my life is all bliss.  Bliss, unalloyed bliss.  Nothing in all the world could persuade me to have a conscience again.  I settled all my old outstanding scores, and began the world anew.  I killed thirty-eight persons during the first two weeks—­all of them on account of ancient grudges.  I burned a dwelling that interrupted my view.  I swindled a widow and some orphans out of their last cow, which is a very good one, though not thoroughbred, I believe.  I have also committed scores of crimes, of various kinds, and have enjoyed my work exceedingly, whereas it would formerly have broken my heart and turned my hair gray, I have no doubt.