“Genius,” said the other one after a pause, and in a different voice, “I do not think you fully appreciate the extent of my powers.”
“Perhaps I do not.”
“I—I am stronger than you think,” he went on warily.
“I think I can fathom the depth of your strength.”
Just then the white light flashed across the ground and showed Plucritus in the act of throwing back his head and laughing silently.
“Ha! what are you up to now?” asked Genius, hastily. But in an instant Plucritus had flashed the counter red light on the scene.
“There is Virginius somewhere round about. I was laughing in the dark to be reminded of the farmer’s death. Thinking that justice at last would have its day.”
“The farmer is not damned?”
“Oh! excellently damned. Irrevocably damned,” and Plucritus laughed. “Now comes the farce ironical. I am most interested in my prayer. To-night and last night it has altered slightly. There are no more prayers for a prosperous business, no more prayers for a happy death-bed, no more prayers for a long life and lasting happiness. It’s all merged into one insane and childish cry ‘God, bring him back—Oh, please, God, do!’”
“When will they know the actual facts?”