Cheniston made no reply. The hostility had suddenly died out of his
eyes; and for a moment Anstice caught a glimpse of the man Hilda Ryder
had loved.

"You know"--his square fingers played absently with his cigarette
case--"I have loved Hilda Ryder all my life. We were brought up together
as children; I was a few years older than she ... by the way, how old
are you?"

Surprised, Anstice owned to his twenty-nine years.

"And I am twenty-six. Hilda was twenty-four last year. Well, all my life
she has been the one--the only--woman in the world for me. We've been
engaged four years; her people wouldn't sanction it till she was twenty,
but we always knew we were made for one another, and Hilda used to say
she would rather be my wife than marry the richest, the most famous man
on earth!"

Suddenly Anstice heard her soft voice in his ear.

"To marry him ... perhaps in time to bear his children, would be to me
the most glorious destiny in the world...."

A spasm of uncontrollable anguish convulsed his features for a moment;
but Cheniston was too intent on his own self-revelation to notice.

"Life--without--Hilda seems impossible somehow." He laughed drearily.
"We have always been so happy together ... I can't imagine going on
without her."

He paused, but Anstice said nothing. He did not know what to say.

"I wonder--can I go on? Is it really required of me that I should
continue to hang on to an existence which is absolutely devoid of all
attraction, of all meaning?" He fixed his blue eyes on the other's face.
"You're a doctor, aren't you?"

Anstice nodded.

"Yes."

"Well, I daresay it has happened in your experience that some poor devil
doomed to a lifetime of torture, condemned, perhaps, to bear the burden
of the sins of his ancestors, has begged you to furnish him with the
means of escape ... there must be cases in which death is infinitely
preferable to life, and a doctor must know plenty of safe ways of
setting free the poor imprisoned wretch as one would free a miserable
caged bird. Tell me, has such an experience ever come your way?" He
spoke almost irritably now.

"Well," said Anstice, "and if it has? What then?"

"How have you answered such entreaties, I wonder? Even you can't pretend
that life is always a sacred thing; that a man isn't sometimes justified
in turning his back on the existence he never desired and yet has to
endure." He paused, and his eyes held a queer blue glitter. "Well, have
y