She winced, half closing her eyes as if a blow had been aimed at them. "Oh, don't say that! How horrible it sounds when you—_speak it_." He could see that she was trembling, and suddenly experienced an odd feeling of contentment. He had seen it in her eyes once more: the love that had never faltered although dragged in the dirt, discredited and betrayed. She still loved him, and he was glad to know it. He could gloat over it. "I am not afraid to speak it, as you say," he said curtly. Then he pitied her. "I'm sorry, Anne. I shouldn't have said it. I think I understand what you mean. It's good of you to care. But I am going ahead with it, just the same." His jaw was set in the old, resolute way. "Do you know what they will say if you—fail?" Her voice was husky. "Yes, I know. I also know why they finally came to me. They haven't any hope. They believe that I may—well, at least I will not say _that_, Anne. Down in their hearts they all hope,—but it isn't the kind of hope that usually precedes an operation. No one has dared to suggest to me that I put him out of his misery, but that's what they're expecting,—all of them. But they are going to be disappointed. I do not owe anything to James Marraville. He is nothing to me. I do not love him as I loved my grandfather." He spoke slowly, with grave deliberation; there was not the slightest doubt that he intended her to accept this veiled explanation of his present attitude as a confession that he had taken his grandfather's life. She was silent. She understood. He went on, more hurriedly: "I can only say to you, Anne, that my grandfather might have gone on living for a few weeks or even months. Well, there is no reason why Marraville shouldn't go on living for awhile. Do you see what I mean? He shall not die to-day if I can help it. He will hang on for weeks, not permanently relieved but at least comforted in the belief that his case isn't hopeless. I shall do my best." He smiled sardonically. "The operation will be called a success, and he will merely go on dying instead of having it all over with." She closed her eyes. "Oh, how cruel it is," she murmured. "How cruel it is, after all." "He will curse me for failing to do my duty," said he grimly. "The world will probably say that I am a benefactor to the human race, after all, and I will be called a great man because I allow him a few more weeks of agony. I may fail, of course. He may not survive the day. But no one will be justified in saying that I did not do my best to tide him over for a few weeks or months. And what a travesty it will be if I do succeed! Every one except James Marraville will praise me to the skies. My job will be done, but he will have it all to do over again,—this business of dying." She held out her hand. Her eyes had filled with tears. "God be with you, Braden." He took her hand in his, and for a moment looked into the swimming eyes.