died, while Sathanas went on immortally from the great strength that was in him. And this change was greater and greater blood madness, a viler cruelty, an insanity that grew and grew until all his days were spent in tormenting and murdering the poor mortals, and his servants spent their time in bringing more and more victims for the pleasures of the mad thing that Sathanas had become. And his chief men became those who flattered him by affecting the same madness for blood that brooded in Sathanas, and he drew his favor from all others and gave it only to those who pleased him by devising new and longer lasting torments for the hordes of humans that were brought before him.
And Mephistopheles at last left the bloody mess, and went Northward, and the records showed no more of Sathanas, but only the family that was now called "Mephisto" and their ways. And they fought northward through the cavern mazes, and the hordes of the people called "Pixies," called gnomes, called trolls, fought and fled before the might of the vast giant that was Mephisto's power, before the great and irresistible weapons that he bore on his air-floating ships, and terrible was the waste and death as the Mephistos carved out a waste of emptiness in the cavern life in which to live alone.
And a sadness at the slaughter that consumed always the best of the life and things in these records was with one always as the scenes passed, as the time sweep reached into the tens of thousands of years, as the Mephistos changed faces, and generations came and went, but ever the war and the killing went on, and ever the people who were called "Faerie" fought with them, little blond people of a mighty science, but fearfully handicapped by their lack of size, and the power that was Satanism spread, and the power that was good and gentle in the caverns diminished, and the number of faces that were gentle and sane grew fewer and fewer as the centuries flashed past on the rapid flowing records, and the madness and degradation of the people that yet lived in the great cavern world great ever greater, their lives less and less cultured, their artistry of pleasure, of science, disappeared, and at the end of it all nothing remained but the lean, dour face of one old man, who was gently shaking me awake. And he said:
"Yes, I am what is left of all that, and I am as discouraged as you at going on with it all. For what is it all but a steady slipping from the great pinnacles of the rich life of the past into the poverty and ignorance and misery of these present days. But still, even in me who inherits the evil, wild blood of those Mephistos, even in me flows some hope that the future may turn a path back into the light that is science and wisdom again. So it is I befriend you, though my instincts say to kill you and be left in peace; left no need of thought or effort; left to lie in the stim and enjoy the smile of Chlio, and her artistry with the stim. Instead of that, I send her with you, and the Devil help my last days without her."
I sat up, and looked about. Chlio had come in while we dreamed in the record sleep, and she smiled upon us, and all the sensuous soul of her was in her eyes, warm and alive and somehow good in spite of her life, or perhaps because its evil had taught her that after all only goodness was sense.
Old Mephisto reached up a claw-like hand and stroked the firm, smooth flesh of her arm, saying:
"It's just as well the rest of the crew here have kept out of your way, as I told them. Saved us all a lot of unpleasantness. Now go, and may our Mother Earth watch over you. Hugo will watch the mad ones, and the others had better mind their step, for my temper has a short rein as I grow older. And no Mephisto was ever noted for mildness." And for an instant a Hell-flame smouldered in his eyes, and I knew that old Mephisto was watching, guarding his emotions, fearing the insanity that had come sooner or later to all of his family, and I pitied him.
As we rose, thinking how best to say our goodby to this old man, who had brought from out of his inheritance of an evil nature—of a character the reverse of noble—the power to be sane and noble, as we thought how to say what we thought of this effort that showed on his face in lines of great strain—as we all of us hesitated in an inner awe at this old man who had managed to be human in spite of every influence to be inhuman—those creatures who had so far remained hidden from our eyes in frustration, in an embarrassed frus-
