She hugged him close, as a mother hugs a child. Nature, she knew then, was nearing exhaustion. All too soon the will that grappled him to life must relax. And then in a moment of frenzy, of desperation, he would kill himself.
It behooved her, as long as was possible, to delay that moment. Friday was already here. And at four o'clock that afternoon Saul Hartz had promised to come to her. Pray Heaven that he did not fail!
As Helen lay in bed, however, listening hour by hour to the chime of the clocks of many neighboring steeples, she was haunted by a fear that the man by her side would not be able to carry on through the day. One stroke of a razor while he shaved, one step in front of an electric train, what could be simpler? His controls were yielding. Of that fact there were many indications. The question was, could he now outlast this all-important day?
Many times she had urged him to take a bromide, but he had not done so. Such things were likely to prove worse than futile. Death was the penalty he inevitably would have to pay; and his mind and will were at one in that, so far as his soul's welfare was concerned, it was best that death came to him through his instincts working in a natural and unfettered way.
"If one bedevils oneself," he argued, "with drugs and potions one may lose control of one's reason altogether. And that will mean a state of aphasia compared with which death is more than kind. Hell is a
