Her anger sustained her until she reached the station. Then when she had kissed Philip good-bye and settled back weakly in her seat, a horrible sinking of soul came over her. What if it were true? Looking out at the shivering trees and the leaden sky impassively, she was telling herself in a transport of feeling and of fear that it was not true! It couldn't be true! But thinking of Senator Black's strange look of pity and his stranger words, "I wish this bill could do as much for you, Mrs. De Jarnette, as you can do for it," doubt began to clutch at her heart. Was this what he meant? Going over her interviews with this one and that in these weeks it seemed to her that she could recall traces of compassion in their words, their looks, as they talked with her. She had thought then it was pity for her wrongs. Was it for her blindness?... Why had nobody told her? Had she no friend that it must be left for her enemy to enlighten her? Why had they let her go on working for this thing as though her soul's salvation had depended upon it--only to find out when all was done, that it was but an abstract law--something that would be useful to humanity perhaps, but left her desolate as before.... Humanity! What was humanity to a mother robbed? Shame smote her then. She heard the voice of Mrs. Greuze saying of a fellow worker: "She has a heart big enough to take in the world and all its woes." But then Mrs. Belden was childless. Perhaps God had given her empty hands that she might work for weak ones too weighted down with cares to help themselves. Well! He had emptied her arms too. Was it thus that the great heart of humanity was brought to throb in unison? She felt suddenly strengthless as if some spring of life were broken.... How she had labored for this thing, sparing not herself in any way, giving time and strength and travail of soul to the furtherance of this bill. And to what purpose? Only an hour ago she was planning what she would say to Senator Blanton when she went to see him. She had been so successful that she was eager to try her powers of persuasion again. It was a joy to work in a great cause like this. Now the zest had faded out of life as the color out of an evening cloud. Everything was stale, flat and unprofitable. "What profit hath a man of all his labor which he taketh under the sun?" came suddenly to her mind with a force never felt before. Who was it said that?... Oh, yes, the Wise Man of course. She had often heard Mrs. Pennybacker quote the words. Well! he _was_ wise, she told herself scornfully. There _was_ no profit. And the Wise Man had found it out. She wondered weakly, feeling very tired all at once, if he had discovered it before he had worn himself out. The train moved steadily on. The scene constantly shifted, but she did not see. Mr. De Jarnette--had said--that--the bill would not give her Philip. She must think it out before she got there--what to do--now. At the station her carriage was waiting for her.