I asked you to sit quiet with me for a little.»

«Yes, I remember that!»

«Well, we sat, but nothing happened. Not a sound more. Of course it was a delusion. Some insect in the wood; the ivy on the outer wall. My own brain furnished the rhythm. Thus do we make fools and children of ourselves. But it gave me an insight. I saw how even a clever man could be deceived by his own emotions.»

«But how do you know, sir, that it was not your wife.»

«Absurd, Malone! Absurd, I say! I tell you I saw her in the flames. What was there left?»

«Her soul, her spirit.»

Challenger shook his head sadly.

«When that dear body dissolved into its elements – when its gases went into the air and its residue of solids sank into a grey dust – it was the end. There was no more. She had played her part, played it beautifully, nobly. It was done. Death ends all, Malone. This soul talk is the Animism of savages. It is a superstition, a myth. As a physiologist I will undertake to produce crime or virtue by vascular control or cerebral stimulation. I will turn a Jekyll into a Hyde by a surgical operation. Another can do it by a psychological suggestion. Alcohol will do it. Drugs will do it. Absurd, Malone, absurd! As the tree falls, so does it lie. There is no next morning . . . night – eternal night . . . and long rest for the weary worker.»

«Well, it's a sad philosophy.»

«Better a sad than a false one.»

«Perhaps so. There is something virile and manly in facing the worst. I would not contradict.