s
unwholesome inspiration (it had dawned on him by this time that Prothero
had made a joke about it). Prothero could stop it if he liked.

"I've told him plainly," he said, "that what it means to him is death.
If you want to keep him, you must stop it."

"How can I?" she moaned.

"Don't encourage him. Don't let him talk about it. Don't let his mind
dwell on it. Turn the conversation. Take his pens and paper from him and
don't let him see them again till he is well."

When the Doctor left her she went up-stairs to Owen.

He was still sitting up writing, dashing down lines with a speed that
told her what race he ran.

"Owen," she said, "you know. He told you----"

He waved her away with a gesture that would have been violent if it
could.

She tried to take his pen and paper from him, and he laid his thin hands
out over the sheets. The sweat stood in big drops between the veins of
his hands; it streamed from his forehead.

"Wait just a little longer, till you're well," she pleaded.

"For God's sake, darling," he whispered hoarsely, "leave me, go away."

She went. In her own room her work stood unfinished on the table where
she had left it, months ago. She pushed it away in anger. She hated the
sight of it. She sat watching the clock for the moments when she would
have to go to him with his medicine.

She thought how right they had been after all. Nina and Jane and
Tanqueray, when they spoke of the cruelty of genius. It had no mercy and
no pity. It had taken its toll from all of them. It was taking its toll
from Owen now, to the last drop of his blood, to the last torturing
breath. His life was nothing to it.

She went to him silently every hour to give him food or medicine or to
take his temperature. She recorded on her chart heat mounting to fever,
and a pulse staggering in its awful haste. He was submissive as long as
she was silent, but at a word his thin hand waved in its agonized
gesture.

Once he kissed her hands that gave him his drink.

"Poor little thing," he said, "it's so frightened--always was. Never
mind--It'll soon be over--only--don't come again" (he had to whisper
it), "if you don't mind--till I ring."

She sat listening then for his bell.

Rose came and stayed with her a little while. She wanted to know what
the Doctor had said to-day.

"He says he must choose between his genius and his life. And it's I who
have to choose. If he goes on he'll kill himself. If I stop him I shall
kill