It seemed to Julie in that moment of intense donation as though indeed something out of her very heart rushed forth for the other’s re-creation. Her eyes burning with an almost unearthly light, she gazed down at the old woman and wrung a flickering response even out of that half dead personality, so that she leaned her head against Julie’s breast. “If anybody could put life into my old carcass, it would be you,” she said. “You couldn’t be any sweeter to me if I was your own mother.” “You _are_ my mother!” Julie cried passionately. “My mother, an’ my sister, an’ my child!” With the words, something seemed to open within her and she was conscious of so tremendous an inrush of life and insight that she was half frightened and made giddy by the swirl of it. She tried to tell Tim about it that night after supper. “I don’t know what it was,” she said, still half frightened, “but it was like something broke inside of me. I wasn’t just myself any more. An’ when I said that about her being my mother, it was _true_. An’ she was more than that even: she was my very self. It was like--like--” she hesitated; “like all my happiness and love had broke over and some of it flowed into her. It did flow into her, some of me did spill over into her. And just for a moment it was like the whole world was rushing through me. I was down at the heart of all the world. At the red-hot centre of us all. There wasn’t anybody so low I couldn’t understand ’em, or so high up my happiness couldn’t reach to them. We were all brothers an’ sisters together there. Just for a minute--just for a second, Tim, the whole world was running through me. My love--_our_ love--had broken open the doors, an’ let in all the rest of the world. But it--it scares me,” she faltered, gripping his hand tight. “It’s like a channel had been plowed straight through me by a river in freshet, an’ it’ll never close up.” “I know,” he returned, with the same awe. “I understand. I saw it, too.” “You saw it, too?” He nodded, looking at her strangely. “Yes, that time the soldiers went by, an’ I stood on the side of the street an’ let them pass; an’ another time too, when we were at the pictures, an’ there were American boys goin’ up to the front. There was one--” But she would not let him finish. His look frightened her. It was aloof and far away as it had been when he watched the line of marching men go by. She caught his hand and began to talk very fast. “Oh, Tim,” she begged, “think of Miss Fogg! She’s getting better: I know she is. She kissed my hand to-day an’ said I’d given her back life.” “Julie--” he began again, but again she cut him short. “Think what our love’s done,” she persisted. “It’s given life to her: it’s our love that’s done it.” His expression was still aloof, and he struggled once more to speak. “Julie,” he began, but she would not have it.