You need no mercy, and therefore know not how to show any." "That sounds like a bitter gibe," said Hilda, with the tears springing into her eyes.

"But I cannot help it.

It does not alter my perception of the truth.

If there be any such dreadful mixture of good and evil as you affirm,--and which appears to me almost more shocking than pure evil,--then the good is turned to poison, not the evil to wholesomeness." The sculptor seemed disposed to say something more, but yielded to the gentle steadfastness with which Hilda declined to listen.

She grew very sad; for a reference to this one dismal topic had set, as it were, a prison door ajar, and allowed a throng of torturing recollections to escape from their dungeons into the pure air and white radiance of her soul.