"Do you think a woman says what I have said on the spur of the moment? Do you think I merely happened to see you to-day, merely happened to say what I've said? You know better. This has been coming for months. I fought it hard at first; with convention, with your idea of right and wrong. Now I laugh at them both. Life is life, and short, and beyond is darkness. Think what atoms we are; and we struggle so hard. Our life that seems to us so short--and so long! A thousand, perhaps ten thousand such, end to end, and we have the life of a world. And what is that? A cycle! A thing self-created, self-destructive: then of human life--nothingness. Oh, it's humorous! Our life, a ten thousandth part of that nothingness; and so full of tiny--great struggles and worries!" She was silent a moment, her throat trembling, a multitude of expressions shifting swiftly on her face. "Do you believe in God?" she questioned suddenly. "I hardly know. There must be--" "Don't you suppose, then, He's laughing at us now?" She hesitated again and then went on, almost unconsciously. "I had a dream a few nights ago." The voice was low and very soft. "It seemed I was alone in a desert place, and partial darkness was about me. I was conscious only of listening and wondering, for out of the shadow came sounds of human suffering. I waited with my heart beating strangely. Gradually the voices grew louder, until I caught the meaning of occasional words and distinctly saw coming toward me the figure of a man and a woman bearing a great burden, a load so great that both together bent beneath the weight and sweat stood thick upon their brows. The edges of the burden were very sharp so that the hands of the man and the woman bled from the wounds and their shoulders were torn grievously where the load had shifted: those of the woman more than the man, for she bore more of the weight. I marvelled at the sight. "Suddenly an intense brightness fell about me and I saw, near and afar, other figures each bearing similar burdens. The light passed away, and I drew near the man and questioned him. "'What rough load is that you carry?' I asked. "'The burden of conventionality,' answered the man, wearily and with a note of surprise in his voice. "'Why do you bear it needlessly?' I remonstrated. "'We dare not drop it,' said the woman, hopelessly, 'lest that light, which is the searchlight of public opinion, return, showing us different from the others.' "Even as she spoke the illumination again fell upon us, and by its brightness I saw a drop of blood gather slowly from the wounds on the woman's hand and fall into the dust at her feet." A silence fell upon the inmates of the tiny muffled office. "But the burden isn't useless," said the man, gently. "The condemnation of society is an hourly reality. From the patronage of others we live. The sun burns us, but we submit, for in return it gives life." The woman arose with an abrupt movement, and looked down at him coldly.