'Perhaps you have even gone so far as to take part in lascivious dancing, or enter some hell of a theatre?'

But the ex-minister had quite defeated his own ends. This probing of conscience brought nothing but a flood of joyful memories of the past. In such a pleasurable review the Icelander quickly recovered from his fear, and replied, with an irreligious chuckle in his voice,—

'Had lots of good dances with the gals—best fun I've ever put in. When I was in Garry, would always take in the show when there was one. I'd like to see another, fine. Tell you, some of them gals could kick up!' He leaned back with the smile of reprobation, and rubbed his hands weakly.

Denton was distinctly frustrated, but, not being sensitive, he instituted a fresh attack. 'It is my duty to give such a wretched sinner as you every chance. Have you ever passed your time—the time for which you must now give account—in saloons, drinking with those equally vile?'

This mystified the Icelander, who did not know which way to take it. 'Always drunk fair, it that's what you're driving at. I've never dropped off a glass behind, then tried to make out I was level up.'

Denton rocked to and fro with deep groans of fanatical horror. 'Poor brother!' he wailed; 'for, miserable sinner as you are, I must still call you brother. You must yourself see that your damnation is assured. Nothing could save you, even it you do now repent—'

'But I don't,' broke in the sinner cheerfully. 'There's no harm in those things. They're right enough.'

'They are the wiles of your master, Satan. Poor dying brother. How dreadful it is to look on you! I must tell you where you are going to, and so complete my duty.' He opened the Bible, moistened a finger, then whipped over the pages, leaving a dirty impression on each. 'Here it is!' he cried in solemn triumph. 'The lake that burneth with fire and brimstone. That's where you're going to. They'll dump you right in, and won't care how much you howl or jump. It'll frizzle you. You'll jerk around like a hot pea. A sulphur match up the nose will be nothing to it.'

But the ex-minister, in his hypocritical zeal, had overshot the mark. His intended victim merely laughed stupidly in his face, then remarked, 'You've made me tired; I'm off to sleep. So long.'

Denton banged the Bible upon his misshapen knees. 'It will be the sleep of death,' he cried tragically. 'You may never wake in this world, and yet you will not listen to a minister of the Word. You will be damned, poor brother. Do you hear that? You will be damned.'