On the whole, Helwyse’s new face pleased him not.  He felt self-estranged and self-distrustful.  Standing on the borders of a darker land, the thoughts and deeds of his past life swarmed in review before his eyes.  Many a seeming trifling event now showed as the forewarning of harm to come.  The day’s journey once over, we see its issue prophesied in each trumpery raven and cloud that we have met since morning.  However, the omens would have read as well another way; for nature, like man, is twofold, and can be as glibly quoted to Satan’s advantage as to God’s.

“Very well done!” said Helwyse to the barber, passing a hand over the close-cropped head and polished chin.  “The only trouble is, it cannot be done once for all.”

As the little man smilingly remarked, however, the charge was but ten cents.  His customer paid it and went out, and was seen by the hair-dresser to walk listlessly up the street.  The improvement in his personal appearance had not mended his spirits.  Indeed, it cannot be disguised that his trouble was more serious than lay within a barber’s skill altogether to set right.

Were man potentially omniscient, then might Balder’s late deed be no crime, but a simple exercise of prerogative.  But is knowledge of evil real knowledge?  God is goodness and man is evil.  God knows both good and evil.  Man knows evil—­knows himself—­only; knows God only in so far as he ceases to be man and admits God.  But this simple truth becomes confused if we fancy a possible God in man.

This was Balder’s difficulty.  Possessed of a strong, comprehensive mind, he had made a providence of himself; confounded intelligence with integrity; used the moral principle not as a law of action but as a means of insight.  The temptation so to do is strong in proportion as the mind is greatly gifted.  But experience shows no good results from yielding to it.  Blind moral instinct, if not safer, is more comfortable!

Not the deed alone, but the revelation it brought, preyed on the young man’s peace.  If he were a criminal to-day, then was the whole argument of his past life criminal likewise.  Yesterday’s deed was the logical outcome of a course of thought extending over many yesterdays.  Why, then, had not his present gloom impended also, and warned him beforehand?  Because, while parleying with the Devil, he looks angelic; but having given our soft-spoken interlocutor house-room, he makes up for lost time by becoming direfully sincere!

On first facing the world in his new guise, Helwyse felt an embarrassment which he fancied everybody must remark.  But, in fact (as he was not long discovering), he was no longer remarkable; the barber had wiped out his individuality.  It was what he had wished, and yet his insignificance annoyed him.  The stare of the world had put him out of countenance; yet when it stopped staring he was still unsatisfied.  What can be the solution of this paradox?