"I am going to prove to you (and some day you may take comfort from it) that, except on earth, there is no such place."
"Ye'd like to believe that, I daresay!"
"For you see," she went on, letting the sneer pass, "it is agreed that, if there be a hell, none but the wicked go there."
"Well?"
"Why, then, hell must defeat itself. For, where all are wicked together, no punishment can degrade, because no shame is felt."
"There's the pain, madam." He eyed her, and barked it in a short, savage laugh. "The torment—the worm that dies not, the fire that's not quenched. Won't these content ye, bating the shame?"
Her eyes answered his in scorn. "No, sir. Because I once suffered your cruelty, you have less understanding than I; but you have more ingenuity than the Almighty, being able, in your district, to make a hell of earth."
"You blaspheme thus to me, that honestly tried to save your soul?"
"Did you? . . . Well, perhaps you did in your fashion, and you may take this comfort for reward. Believe me, who have tried, hell is bottomless, but in its own way. Should ever you attain to it—and there may in another world be such a place for the cruel—go down boldly; and it may be you will drop through into bliss."
"You, to talk of another world!" he snapped.