Anne leaned forward in her chair. "Then you regard Mr. Thorpe's case as one that might be included in Braden's—" Again she failed to complete a sentence. "Yes, Mrs. Thorpe," said Dr. Bates gravely. "If young Braden's pet theory were in practice now, your husband would be entitled to the mercy he prescribes." "He has no chance?" "Absolutely no chance." "All there is left for him is to just go on suffering until—until life wears out?" "We are doing everything in our power to alleviate the suffering,—everything that is known to science," he vouchsafed. "We can do no more." "How long will he live, Dr. Bates?" she asked, and instantly shrank from the fear that he would misinterpret her interest. "No man can answer that question, Mrs. Thorpe. He may live a week, he may live six months. I give him no more than two." "And if he were to consent to the operation that you once advised, what then?" "That was a year ago. I would not advise an operation now. It is too late. In fact, I would be opposed to it. There are men in my profession who would take the chance, I've no doubt,—men who would risk all on the millionth part of a chance." "You think he would die on the operating table?" "Perhaps,—and perhaps not. That isn't the point. It would be useless, that's all." "Then why isn't Braden's theory sound and humane?" she demanded sharply. He frowned. "It is humane, Mrs. Thorpe," said he gravely, "but it isn't sound. I grant you that there is not one of us who would not rejoice in the death of a man in Mr. Thorpe's condition, but there is not one who would deliberately take his life." "It is all so cruel, so horribly cruel," she said. "The savages in the heart of the jungle can give us lessons in humanity." "I daresay," said he. "By the same reasoning, is it wise for us to receive lessons in savagery from them?" Anne was silent for a time. She felt called upon to utter a defence for Braden but hesitated because she could not choose her words. At last she spoke. "I have known Braden Thorpe all my life, Dr. Bates. He is sincere on this question. I think you might grant him that distinction." "Lord love you, madam, I haven't the faintest doubt as to his sincerity," cried the old doctor. "He is voicing the sentiment of every honest man in my profession, but he overlooks the fact that sentiment has a very small place among the people we serve,—in other words, the people who love life and employ us to preserve it for them, even against the will of God." "They say that soldiers on the field of battle sometimes mercifully put an end to the lives of their mutilated comrades," she mused aloud.