Again a look suggesting pain shot across the stranger's face, but he still spoke quietly.
"Mr. Briarfield," he said, "I have even read the book which is to the English people a text-book of religion. I fancy I am somewhat of an exception, but I have. Well, the part of that book which interests me most is the Book of Ecclesiastes. Perhaps that is because the experience of its writer is my own experience. In all essential features, Solomon, or whoever was the author, wrote my experience. I have tried everything, Mr. Briarfield."
"And your conclusion?"
"Solomon's."
"If that were my creed," said Briarfield, "I should commit suicide."
"Of course I have thought of that—without fear. But I came to the conclusion that it wasn't worth while. 'For in that sleep of death what dreams may come! Ay, there's the rub.' Besides, I've something to live for."
"According to your creed I do not see what," said Briarfield. "It would be interesting to know."
"Ah, but I have something to live for, Mr. Briarfield."
"I suppose I might be intruding on your privacy if I sought to know what it was?"
"It's not love, and it's not money," said Ricordo. "Ah, Herr Trübner, I apologise. I have monopolised your guest completely, and that is unforgivable. You have a great gift, my friend—all the Germans have—and it makes them a great people."