He broke off, for Alwyn at that moment sprang from his chair, and, staring fixedly at him, uttered a quick, fierce exclamation.

“Ah!  I know you now!” he cried in sudden and extraordinary excitement—­“I know you well!  We have met before!—­Why,—­after all that has passed,—­do we meet again?”

This singular speech was accompanied by a still more singular transfiguration of countenance—­a dark, fiery glory burned in his eyes, and, in the stern, frowning wonder and defiance of his expression and attitude, there was something grand yet terrible,—­ menacing yet supernaturally sublime.  He stood so for an instant’s space, majestically sombre, like some haughty, discrowned emperor confronting his conqueror,—­a rumbling, long-continued roll of thunder outside seemed to recall him to himself, and he pressed his hand tightly down over his eyelids, as though to shut out some overwhelming vision.  After a pause he looked up again,—­wildly, confusedly,—­almost beseechingly,—­and Heliobas, observing this, rose and advanced toward him.

“Peace!” he said, in low, impressive tones,—­“we have recognized each other,—­but on earth such recognitions are brief and soon forgotten!” He waited for a few seconds,—­then resumed lightly, “Come, look at me now! ... what do you see?”

“Nothing ... but yourself!” he replied, sighing deeply as he spoke—­“yet ... oddly enough, a moment ago I fancied you had altogether a different appearance,—­and I thought I saw ... no matter what! ...  I cannot describe it!” His brows contracted in a puzzled line.  “It was a curious phenomenon—­very curious ... and it affected me strangely...” he stopped abruptly,—­then added, with a slight flush of annoyance on his face, “I perceive you are an adept in the art of optical illusion!”

Heliobas laughed softly.  “Of course!  What else can you expect of a charlatan, a trickster, and a monk to boot!  Deception, deception throughout, my dear sir! ... and have you not asked to be deceived?”

There was a fine, scarcely perceptible satire in his manner; he glanced at the tall oaken clock that stood in one corner of the room—­its hands pointed to eleven.  “Now, Mr. Alwyn,” he went on, “I think we have talked quite enough for this evening, and my advice is, that you retire to rest, and think over what I have said to you.  I am willing to help you if I can,—­but with your beliefs, or rather your non-beliefs, I do not hesitate to tell you frankly that the exertion of my internal force upon yours in your present condition might be fraught with extreme danger and suffering.  You have spoken of Truth, ‘the deathful Truth’; this being, however, nothing but Truth according to the world’s opinion, which changes with every passing generation, and therefore is not Truth at all.  There is another Truth—­the everlasting Truth—­the pivot of all life, which never changes; and it is with this alone that my science deals.  Were I to set you at liberty